Destiny
by HB rules
Summary: Can Constance escape a rueful fate? Penultimate chapter, chapter 26, now up and running. Nearly over!
1. Chapter 1

**Hello witchy people! This is an idea that I really cannot get out of my head, so I thought I might as well write it! I will put up the first 2 chapters and see how it is received...hint hint... to decide how it will go. Having trouble with the next chapter of my other works so I thought I'd try something new.**

**Rated for probable violence and darkness, as with any of my other works you have read *makes mental note to actually finish last one...***

**Hope you enjoy it, please please please review to let me know what you think! Even a few words. This is only my third FF so I need opinions!**

**Enjoy xxx**

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><p><strong>Destiny<strong>

**Chapter 1**

Darkness came with the death of the sun, the black and empty entity sweeping across the earth and consuming everything in its path. Only the weak, eerie light of the waning moon hanging ominously in the sky prevented the complete domination of the dark, with the rays spilling through the window like water rushing through a stream and causing shadows to dance across baron walls, like children around a campfire. Even the spiders had fled in cowardice to the solace of another room in the ancient house.

The silence was a plague, reaching out to every corner of the room and suffocating those who dared enter. The biting cold which stabbed at skin like the prick of a thousand needles was a message, a warning. It epitomised how this place was not simply one confined box in the vast expanse of the universe, but the centre of something far greater and far darker; even the startled cry of a raven in the depth of the night was lost into the abyss.

The only thing in the room was a bed, the iron frames which had withstood the test of time finally falling to the grip of rust eating away at the structure. The mattress was thin and worn with springs sticking out, the sharp edges threatening to bleed any occupant who was not cautious; there was no pillow to cradle the head as it wandered into the realm of dreams.

You would never have guessed that this was the bedroom of a child.

The girl was no more than eight years old, deprived of the love of a warm, comforting family since birth and locked away in the cold until it was seen fit that she should appear. Her hair, dark as ebony, was long and cascading like a curtain to hide her pale face from the cruel world she lived in. She nursed her damaged arm close to her chest, dabbing the ruby red blood with a cloth she had grabbed from the floor as she was pushed from the parlour back into her prison. The pain surged up her arm, though not a sound left her lips to betray it. She had learnt, by now, not to cry; a lesson no eight year old should have to learn.

On the outside, she had to appear as strong and stoic, but the truth which lay inside, behind the defensive barriers she had created to keep what dignity she could grab on to, was that she was a terrified little girl who longed for anything but the life she was forced to lead.

Her head jerked up, her eyes wide and alert, as she heard the clang of a key in the first of the many locks which kept her hidden from view. She shot to her feet, making sure to hide the bloodstained rag, with her posture as straight-laced and perfect as if she was soldier preparing for combat; perhaps on some levels, she was.

It was her father who entered first, a man of considerable height with dark hair and blunt, cutting features. His eyes were small but she could feel them boring deep into her soul, daring to find any sign of weakness to exploit. She could not even risk a breath escaping from her mouth, which she kept tightly shut, and held in what air she could. Her father loomed over her, looking down on her as though she was nothing and with no love or compassion in his unfathomable eyes.

'She's in here,' he growled, his tone more of a prison warden than a parent. He moved aside, his gaze fixed on his only daughter, as another figure came into view; a silhouette against the light from the hall.

The woman was almost as tall as the girl's father; her face was harsh and her lips looked as though they had never curled into the warmth of a smile. Her hair was scraped back into a bun, hidden by the aid of a small black hat and her long black dress swept across the floor. She moved towards the girl, narrowing her eyes as though examining her. She could not speak if she had wanted to, her throat constricted with a fear she had not felt in a long time. There was something about her, this unusual woman, who instilled such terror from simply a stare in such a way that even a girl familiar with the cruelty of life was not accustomed to.

'What do you think?' barked the girl's father. The woman took a few moments to reply.

'When did she first present her magical ability?' Her voice was sharp, her words clipped and firm.

'Right from when she was baby Mistress Broomhead, we had to keep her away from all of the other children.'

Hecketty Broomhead looked once more at the child. She was young, far younger than the girls she usually took into her fold who had been given far more years to mature and learn to control their magic; but she had sensed it as soon as she had walked into the house. There was something different about this girl, something unique. Power radiated from her small frame, her magic almost visible like an aura surrounding her and reaching out to the air around her; it was as though she emitted a bright glow despite the ghostly pallor of her pale face. Hecketty guessed that she had been locked away for most of her life, neglected and abused...far easier to control.

'Show me your magic,' she commanded the girl. Her mind ran into overdrive, every thought passing by too fast for her to fully comprehend it. She had never been taught spells as such, but when she was alone in her room she often played with the magic which crackled at her fingertips; now she had to use it. She could feel the apprehension hanging in the air, the longing of her father for her to do something right in her life.

She flexed her fingers and concentrated, allowing the energy to form in a bluish haze before her. It rose, like the thick mist on the moors at night and danced through the air, curling and shifting gracefully until it formed a simple white lily which floated across the room resting silently on the bed.

Mistress Broomhead looked once again at the girl, who did not seem to realise what she had just achieved. For a child so young, who evidently never been taught the art of magic, she had even managed to surprise her, though she did not let this come across in her demeanour; to show emotion was weakness, one of the first lessons this child would need to learn.

'Well, I can certainly see her potential,' began Mistress Broomhead, 'but she will need a lot of preparation before I can truly test her ability.' She waved her right hand carelessly and a large pile of thick, heavy books appeared on the bed beside the single flower.

'I expect her to study all of the incantations in the books and learn them all, by heart, before the beginning of the new term at the college. A week before she is due to start, I will test her ability again and then we shall see if she is as adept as she appears to be.' Hecketty walked over to the man and whispered into his ear,

'I think we can come to some...arrangement, so long as she passes the final test.' His eyes were greedy and a malicious smile spread across his face. He nodded and looked once more at his child; the only source of joy she brought was in what she could provide for him; soon he wouldn't have to worry about the brat any longer.

Mistress Broomhead turned without another word and the girl's father followed her out. She was exactly what Hecketty needed, even more powerful than she had imagined a child could be. This one had more magic running through her blood than even she did, and Hecketty regarded herself as one of the most skilful witches in the country. What this girl would become, what she could be...everything would fall into place.

Left once more alone, but at least with the dull warmth of the hallway light, the girl's mind was left to wander. She wished that her heat would sink at the thought of being sold; she was merely an inconvenient possession of her father's waiting to be passed on for profit, but she knew that he had never loved her and she accepted it. Looking at the books, she found some comfort in knowing that at least she would be able to harness the magic which she could feel in her blood. Magic was not only something which filled the long hours in dark solitude, but an art which she had sculpted and claimed as her own; on long nights, it had kept her going and sometimes she felt that it was all that she lived for.

She watched her father return, his smug grin truly sickening. On seeing her, however, he turned as though someone had flicked a switch at the back of his head. His eyes danced with malice and he picked up one of the books from the pile.

'You heard Mistress Broomhead,' he said menacingly, 'you need to study!' With all of his might, he threw the book hard at his daughter. She closed her eyes, waiting for the thud as the leather-bound book collided with her head; but it never came. She felt energy within her and opened her eyes just in time to see the book veer right and smash hard into the wall with a bang. This angered her father further, though another of his painful smiles returned. He closed the door and walked slowly towards her.

'Clever little Constance,' he mocked, 'let's see where your trickery gets you...'

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><p><strong>:O What a revelation XD *Bribes with food and hugs as the review link beeps and flashes*<strong>

**Hope you liked it, please review it makes my day XD**

**xxx**


	2. Chapter 2

**As promised, Chapter 2 along with the first one. Double the writing so...you know where I'm going! Completely different angle so please let me know what you think**

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><p><strong>Chapter 2 <strong>

Constance woke from the dream, the memories washing over her mind like the ebb and flow of a tide. Her chest heaved as she stole as much oxygen as she could from the surrounding air. She rose from her bed, pulling back the light satin sheets and getting shakily to her feet. Even in the confines of her room, she always liked to keep composed with her posture straight and chin up; she always had to carry on.

Walking to the window, Constance looked out at the forest which lay dormant and unmoving before her. The castle was old, hundreds of years old with a history ingrained in the very stone of with which it had been built. The turrets soared high into the air and even passers-by could not help but stare at its secluded majesty. As her long, taloned fingers skimmed the cool granite of her windowsill, she could feel the remnants of everyone who had ever graced the castle with their presence; all magic left an imprint, and these walls had seen their fair share.

The wind was cool against her face, a gentle finger to stroke her cheek like the mother she had never had the chance to know. Constance had never been afraid of the dark, but there was something unnerving about it; how it reflected nothing, yielded nothing and it was like staring into the depths of hell itself. She had never admitted to being afraid of anything in her life. It simply wasn't how she did things; she lived her life as the dependable, infallible witch who never flinched nor faltered in the face of all disaster.

But the dream had brought back memories from a time she had tried so hard to forget. No altering spell, no forgetfulness potion, could suppress the childhood she wished she had never had. Since arriving at Cackle's Academy, she had felt at home. For the first time, she had found her place and she had begun to live her life. Yet she had denied her past for so long, pushing her younger self to the very back of her mind where it had been waiting to resurface for so many years. She could feel it reawakening, a warning perhaps that something was wrong. She could feel it, in the air. Something felt different, something to do with her.

Sitting down at her desk, the hard chair not particularly inviting, but Constance had never believed in such indulgences as comfort. She flicked her right hand and a bottle of wine and a glass appeared, beginning to pour her a modest serving of the deep red liquid. She despised the knowledge that alcohol would quell her busy and chaotic mind, yet at the same time she could feel the thoughts running rampant through her head and she needed something, anything, to calm them down.

From her desk, she removed the stopper from a small brown bottle of wide awake potion and poured a small amount into the glass, mixing it into the wine, which turned an even murkier colour. She did not assume that she would sleep again that night, and truth be told she didn't want to. The memories which had seemed so vivid and so real only moments ago were beginning to slip away as she drank deeply and although Constance scolded herself for so childishly escaping from her problems, the foul tasting liquid soothed her aching throat.

The morning dragged itself slowly from the depths of the night, first revealing itself in the early hours of the morning by fading the blackness of the sky to a lighter grey until the birds began to sing, a song praising the beginning of a new day. Constance sat watching the world go by, wondering if she would ever truly be a part of it. She felt detached, as though she was only an observer in the grand scheme of things, with the ability only to see rather than to live. It was a feeling, she knew, which came from the little girl sat in the corner of the room watching the raven outside her window.

Xxx

Constance strode into the staffroom earlier than the rest of her colleagues. As deputy headmistress, she took her role seriously and was always the first to enter the room and begin preparing for the morning's work. She marvelled at how even the headmistress could walk in half an hour before lessons commenced and still manage to teach without lacking in organisation or preparation. Perhaps it was her, just making work to keep busy. After all, a mind that is busy doesn't have the time to remember.

She sat at the long wooden table, a cup of piping hot tea slowly going cold as it lay, untouched watching the woman work. She marked essays, wrote reports and outlined her lesson plans within an hour and by six thirty, even Constance could not find anything else to do. She ignored the ache in her bony wrist which told her she had worked herself to hard and simply sat, waiting whilst staring at nothing in particular.

Her right hand rested gently on the soft velvet of her left arm, the inviting texture a comfort to her hardworking fingers. The dress she wore was black, reaching from her chin to her ankles with only the keys to the school hanging at her waist as decoration. It was a symbol of her authority as much as her dignity, but no-one could guess how much was truly hidden beneath the dark material.

Miss Imogen Drill was the first to enter, her face flushed from the early run she took every morning. Constance had never understood the need for physical exertion during the hours of the morning, but it was only one of the many things upon which she and the PE teacher disagreed. She inclined her head in greeting though offered no words to accompany the gesture. Imogen was used to it, surprised at times that such a strict and disciplined person as Miss Hardbroom would ever even imply so much as a greeting.

Imogen went over to her bag, which was resting by the fireplace, and took out a yoghurt and a banana. She sat across from Constance and began her breakfast, feeling slightly ill at ease with the potions mistress not quite watching her, but still making her presence aware.

'Why is it,' Miss Drill inquired, 'that you never eat breakfast Miss Hardbroom?' The question often played on Imogen's mind. She had never seen the deputy headmistress eat more than an apple in any one sitting, and thinking about it, it was every rare that she saw her consume anything at all.

Constance tried not to shift uncomfortably, but the question was, as she saw it, personal. She and Imogen had never seen eye to eye, and such an unprecedented question was not something she had expected.

'I simply never get hungry.' She cut the conversation short with a clipped and final answer. Imogen took the hint not to probe further and shrugged to herself, continuing with her meal. It had been partially truthful, thought Constance. She never did get hungry, but it wasn't as if she was about to tell her why that was. She had always been thin, enviably so others had said, but her figure was not something she noticed about herself. She covered her body to hide away, not to be looked at, and scraped her long and flowing hair back into a braided plait; confidence and control, that had always been her motto. One does not come without the other, and for Constance control included the wayward hair she had denied freedom for many years.

Miss Cackle, the headmistress of Cackle's Academy, walked in exuding a brightness and enthusiasm which Constance could not fathom so early in the morning.

'Good morning!' she called, a smile spreading across her face. She pulled her grey cardigan more tightly around her shoulders, feeling the cold nipping at her arms. Miss Cackle pointed her index fingers towards the dormant fireplace, which ignited at once with crackling flames engulfing the wood and roaring in triumph.

'Ah, that's better.' She went and sat in one of the armchairs before the shimmering fire and began to read a newspaper which had been lying on the table beside her.

Constance decided to make use of herself by making another cup of tea, walking over to the urn to fill another cup with hot water. She could feel her mind wandering to other places, forcing herself to focus and to forget.

'OH!' Amelia's exclamation almost caused Constance to spill the contents of her cup onto the floor.

'What is it, headmistress?' she asked dutifully. Miss Cackle rested the paper on the arm of the chair and rose to her feet.

'I had forgotten, the Chair of the Board of Governors, Mister Hallow, is visiting next week,' she explained, 'but I cannot recall exactly what day it is.'

'I believe I wrote the date in my diary,' offered Constance, 'it's on my desk.' The diary she kept was not filled with personal messages or secret liaisons, but it was simply a record of her duties. Much like her, its only purpose was for work.

'Thank you, Constance,' Miss Cackle replied. Her deputy was always so dependable, so organised that she often wondered how well the school would run if she was in charge herself. She picked up the small black book and easily found the dates for next week. Constance's writing was neat and precise, very much like her character. The headmistress often wondered if she did anything haphazardly.

It was then that she noticed something, a discrepancy which had to be by design rather than accident as the ink was bright red opposed to the black used everywhere else.

'Did you find it, Miss Cackle?' Constance asked.

'Yes, he is coming on Monday. Is there anything else happening next week, Constance?'

'Not that I know of, why do you ask?' She walked to Miss Cackle and looked over her shoulder, towering several inches above the headmistress.

'There,' Miss Cackle pointed to the thin red line which underlined the Thursday of next week, the 23rd of October.

Constance could swear that her heart had stopped beating in her chest. That red line...how could she have forgotten? How had it come to this so soon? At least it explained, in part, her nightmare but she was not ready to accept what it meant; she couldn't bear to.

'Nothing, Miss Cackle, it is simply a printing error.' She shouldn't have been surprised at how easily the lie slipped from her lips and hissed like a snake words so untrue they could have been blasphemous.

She avoided Miss Cackle's gaze as she took the book back and closed it, putting it back on the desk from where it had been taken; she knew from past experience that it was her eyes which gave her away. It seemed that the headmistress thought nothing more of it and returned to her paper as Constance sat at the desk and began writing a letter she did not need to write. Her hand was almost trembling too much for the words to properly form, but it didn't matter; as long as she appeared to be alright, then nothing else mattered.

Inside, behind the icy walls of the cage in which she had locked everything away, the little girl cried. Her world was falling, her body an empty shell as her mind screamed and sobbed. It was coming, the day she had never dreamed would come so soon, and no-one could know. No-one could know as she crumbled to nothing, whilst everyone watched the normal deputy headmistress hard at work.

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><p><strong>XD Hope you enjoyed :) Worth a few words?<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**Another chapter coming soon, as I know where this is going a bit more now XD Thanks to those who have reviewed so far, but I still need people's opinion!**

**Enjoy this chapter XD**

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><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

Slap. The sound cut through the air as Mistress Broomhead's hand collided with the girl's cheek, echoing around the empty room like the cry of a lone wolf in the woods at night. Constance staggered back, the force of the blow almost unbelievable considering her lean frame. She regained composure, standing straight once again and ignoring the prickling heat on her reddening face; she knew better than to cry.

It had not taken her long to learn how things worked. Weakness was punished almost as severely as failure, intolerable discrepancies in the perfection strived for by Mistress Broomhead in every aspect of her pupils' lives. She would never be proud, she would never reward but she was the force no-one dared to reckon with; it was a gamble against a stacked deck with unthinkable consequences, and a risk not one person had ever seen pay off. Constance often fell asleep, if she was ever granted such a gift, listening to the girls who were not up to the standard; they were girls she would never see again.

Mistress Broomhead stared at the child before her. She had only been under her tuition for a few weeks, but she was showing more promise than any of the other students she had taught. Although her expression, she knew, was one of uncompromising rage and expectation, she was pushing Constance more than anyone else.

Hecketty had decided to truly test the limits of her skill by teaching her to travel at will, vanishing before materialising wherever she chose. On her first attempt she had travelled a few feet and reappeared, though a little unsteadily; normally it took weeks for a student to progress even to that stage. After her third try, Hecketty was pushing her hard; she knew that she could do it and, if she did, all of her questions would be answered.

The room had been darkened, a deserted classroom with desks pushed to the side and the blinds blocking all of the light fighting to get into the room and spread its warmth. Constance looked at the spot where she needed to materialise at the other end of the classroom; it might has well have been a thousand miles away. She had to stop herself from trembling, feeling Hecketty's burning and expectant gaze ripping deep into her soul.

Constance took a breath and blocked everything else out. She needed to focus, the knowledge that her tutor's hand was by far not the worst punishment that could be bestowed forcing her to concentrate. Confidence and control, she had learned, were the best tools a witch could have and she believed that she could do it. The girl folded her arms and vanished, reappearing moments later precisely on the spot Mistress Broomhead had indicated. She showed no pride, no celebration at what she had achieved but simply waited for further instruction, turning to her form tutor in silence.

Mistress Broomhead could not prevent a sickly grin from appearing across her wrinkled face. She had finally found her, the girl with power beyond her own wildest dreams; she was the key.

'Come here, Constance,' she barked. Constance obliged at once, appearing before Mistress Broomhead with greater ease than before. She stared at her tutor, her eyes dancing with malice, and she tried to stop the fear from bubbling in her chest.

'You have a destiny, child, and a position of great importance. You must learn to harness your power; I will teach you everything I know and you will pledge yourself to me. I control you, Constance, and I always will.' Constance nodded, a false indication that she understood. She had a destiny, a role to play; yet she couldn't know what it was. Her soul had been sold to the devil, it seemed, and there was nothing that she could do about it.

Xxx

Time over the past few days had passed in a haze, all at once yet painfully slow at the same time. Day and night merged into one, darkness never seeming to yield whilst the sun did not appear to set. The Earth kept turning as it always would, oblivious to the misery and suffering of many below. The world carried on, stopping for nothing and no-one with no exceptions. Constance had learned from a young age that the world did not care for the troubles of one child, nor one woman, in the grand scheme of life; another of the harsh lessons from her childhood.

She sat in her place at the scrubbed wooden table in the staffroom, glad of the solitude whilst the rest of the school was out picking herbs. Even when alone, she felt cautious massaging her aching temples and sipping scalding tea laced with a concoction of remedies. Constance would never admit it, but she hadn't been feeling quite herself since the realisation that the 23rd was creeping up on her, a day she had feared since she was eight years old though had never known why; she would soon find out, she thought grimly.

She knew that it was stress, the combination of her impossible workload and the frustration of not knowing what was to come. The memories were flooding back now, flashing across her mind without warning and bringing an uncontrollable sense of dizziness and fear in their wake. Constance had never been able to fully alter her memory. It was against the Witches Code and almost unachievable, even for an accomplished witch; but that hadn't prevented her from trying. She could feel the charms breaking, her magic receding and the images they had imprisoned breaking free from their hold. It was a warning, the fire dancing before the storm and teasing what was to come.

Constance rose, standing straight-backed as she had always been taught to do. Her hair, impeccably scraped into a tidy braided plait, was pulling forcefully at her forehead but she had long learned how to ignore the pain inflicted on her body. Checking for the one hundredth time that no-one was around, she gingerly lifted the sleeve of her black satin gown and suppressed a shudder as the white, pearly scars shone back at her; one thing her magic could not hide. She ran her long, bony finger across the deepest, feeling once more the pain that had originally accompanied it.

For a moment she was back, lying on the ground as her form tutor towered over her screaming to the heavens. She could see the girls she knew, though had never called friends, lingering outside the door and clutching each other in comfort as they heard the crack of magic and a muffled cry.

Pulling herself back, Constance found herself uneasy on her feet. Her hand reached for the back of the chair at her desk, gripping the wood and releasing slow deep breaths to clear her misted mind. She saw the small book, staring back at her in jest; she did not need to open it to know what lay inside. Constance had never told anyone about the day and she doubt that anyone knew; but the day was coming nonetheless.

She rolled her sleeve back down and suddenly felt helpless, a pawn in a game she didn't even know how to play. She was the deputy headmistress, a position of authority and discipline within the school; people relied on her and looked to her for guidance, respected her though, she knew, feared her. She had tried desperately not to become her former tutor, vowed never to raise her hand to a child and only to help.

But catching her reflection in the glass of the bookcase, she saw the same steely eyes that had looked her over that night in her bedroom. Perhaps the hole filled only with cruelty and malice that surely stood in place of Hecketty's heart was not mimicked in her chest, but she saw Mistress Broomhead's wicked stare through her own. She was a puppet, a production of her teachings with perfect posture and an emotionless stare. The only time she ever expressed herself was through rage; what did that say about her? She never shed a glistening tear and rarely allowed a smile to flicker across her face, devoted to rules and order with little room for compromise or indulgence.

Perhaps she was just an impression, Hecketty's apprentice waiting to be called. Her morals had been drilled into her by the woman, her ability given to her by Mistress Broomhead; the only difference between them was delight in the suffering of others. Constance turned despite herself to the page, the red line underlining her fate glowing back at her. She found herself wondering if Hecketty had always been that way, so uncompromising and heartless.

Staring at the date of her 40th birthday, she could barely feel the heart pounding against her ribs and could swear that she had no control as to whether it beat at all.

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><p><strong>Coming up soon, Mr Hallow's visit and another revelation...<strong>

**Please R and R :)**

**x**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks as ever to lovely reviewers! Would give out many bakery items of thanks if it were not for the affliction of the internet!**

**Hope you enjoy this chapter and the next should follow soon XD**

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><p><strong>Chapter 4<strong>

Amelia let out a long sigh, expelling the frustrated breath from her tired lungs. She had risen long before the sun; when darkness still harrowed the cold and ghostly corridors. Without the vibrant chatter of excited girls to fill the castle with life the place was eerie, almost chilling.

The headmistress looked hopelessly at the mountain of papers still covering her desk like a blanket of snow, staring blankly at her offering no help with the seemingly implausible task of organising everything before Mr Hallow's arrival later that morning. He had never disclosed the reason for a visit, and the fact that his motives were so enveloped in mystery made Miss Cackle feel uneasy. She had felt the tension in the staffroom over the past few days, the conversations which ended a fraction too early and the false smiles of faltering confidence. If something was wrong, then today was the day that they would discover what it was.

Constance had become increasingly detached. Amelia had assumed it was due to the additional stress Mr Hallow's visit was putting on her; she had been preparing just as much, if not more so, than the headmistress and without compromising her considerable workload. Amelia wondered how she did it, spending every waking moment writing or teaching, marking or preparing lessons; she was a woman who never stopped, not for anybody. Yet recently there had been a sharpness in her tone and a briskness in her step which she had not been able to avoid noticing. Something was on her mind, but Amelia knew all too well that Constance was not about to let her in on what it was.

Miss Cackle managed, with moments to spare, to tidy her office and organise the things she would need to show Mr Hallow as the girls began to emerge with the rising sun for breakfast before the morning's lessons. She had time to tackle her wild grey hair, pushing it fiercely behind her ears and rubbing her tired eyes. She went to the front doors as a resounding knock filled the castle, the sound of ancient wood ringing through the cautious air. Miss Cackle went to open the door, ready to allow uncertainty into her school with a welcoming smile.

Xxx

Constance heard the knock on the door from the staffroom. She had been traipsing through a large pile of fourth year reviews when she stopped, her head snapping up at once at the sound which signalled the entrance of a very important man. She knew as well as anyone that a visit from the Chairman of the Board of Governor's for Cackle's Academy, especially one with no definitive purpose, was a cause for caution if not quite alarm.

She had not been able to hide her anxiety as well as she would have liked; every now and then a sharp word where it was uncalled for or a dismissive gesture which was so out of character for someone like her would give her away. Constance often scolded herself for becoming so careless; allowing anyone to see what she was feeling was a thought which she could not stand to see become truth.

No matter how distracted or how busy she kept herself, the red line emphasising her fate kept running through her mind. She had barely slept since the previous week, though every waking moment which passed meant another step closer. It felt ridiculous to her, a woman who lived for logic and order, to suffer such concern over something which she did not know. But every time Constance tried to dismiss the day as any other, she remembered the fire in Mistress Broomhead's eyes when she had told her.

_That is the day, Constance. That is the day your journey will begin and your part becomes clear. _

Such cryptic words which brought neither clarity nor comfort; they served only to fuel her unease.

Constance realised that the full bowl of porridge which had been brought to her earlier was still sitting untouched on the table, cold and curdled with the lumps like peaks, contours in a range of foreign mountains. The thought of eating never seemed to cross her mind nowadays, but staring now at the porridge brought the unexpected sensation of nausea to her throat. She suppressed it, as she did everything else, and simply flexed her fingers to vanish the offending food.

A loud crack reflected the bolt of blue energy she had cast back, causing her hand to recoil in pain and surprise. The porridge disappeared, though the ceramic dish which had harboured it had split neatly in two. Constance fought very hard to control the anger and frustration which she felt taking her over. The Foster's effect: that was all that she needed. She battled the urge to throw something or even to curse beneath her breath; she had to be in control. Breathing deeply, she urged the emotion to pass.

Xxx

Amelia was feeling the repercussions of her early morning as she concluded the tour of the new facilities with Mr Hallow. He had been bright and cheerful, asking questions and taking interest which served only to emphasise the headache building within Miss Cackle's head. She brought him to the staffroom, already feeling drained and hoping to catch a moment's peace if she left Mr Hallow to make a cup of tea.

Opening the staffroom door, Miss Cackle noted Constance sitting at her usual place at the table. She saw it only for a moment, the briefest flash of oddity before the deputy headmistress acknowledged their presence. Constance was sat with her head resting lightly on her left hand. She looked tired, her complexion paler than normal and her eyes as she opened them betraying a sudden rush of emotion. Amelia sensed then more than ever before that something was wrong, but knew that in company there was nothing she could do.

A fraction of a second passed before Constance was on her feet, smiling briefly to Mr Hallow who returned the greeting, though with somewhat more enthusiasm.

'Good morning Mr Hallow,' began Constance, 'I trust you had a pleasant journey?'

'Yes, it is a fine morning,' he replied brightly.

'Constance, I was wonder-'

'Of course, Miss Cackle. Mr Hallow, would you like a cup of tea whilst I take you through the financial records?'

'That would be lovely, Miss Hardbroom.' Amelia could not guess how her deputy had known exactly what she was about to say and marvelled at her ability to subtly understand and organise every matter she came across. She watched her for a moment, taking everything in her stride as though she had planned it to perfection; there was no hint of the different woman the headmistress had seen when she had walked unannounced into the room.

Amelia felt guilty walking out of the staffroom and leaving Constance in charge, but her tired mind was foggy and she was little help incapacitated through exhaustion; she would simply retire to her office and take a few moments to recover from an early morning not suited to a woman of her disposition.

She often considered letting Constance take over even more. The headmistress seemed to be no more than a figurehead these days, she thought; it had always been Constance in charge, running everything and commanding respect and authority. She shook her head, writing her muddled thoughts off to lack of sleep. Miss Cackle would be loyal to Cackle's until the day she retired, and that would be no time soon. She was dedicated to her pupils and her staff until the very end, swearing her oath of protection and trust from the day she arrived as headmistress; she owed the place that much at least.

Xxx

Amelia gasped, jarring into the waking world as something pulled her from her dreams. She stared dumbfounded at the clock, realising that she had slept through an entire morning without any thought to her school. She remembered how her eyelids had been so heavy and how she had sworn to close them only for two minutes. Cursing her shameful indulgence, she half ran to the staffroom and expected to find chaos had ensued in her departure.

Constance watched Miss Cackle burst rather enthusiastically through the door in the middle of her explanation about new European cauldron standards. Anyone else would have been amused at how she stopped to catch her breath and tried desperately to flatten her hair, which gave away her occupation for the past few hours.

'I am sorry Mr Hallow; I had some...urgent matters which needed my attention.' Amelia had always been a terrible liar, thought Constance as she dismissed her apology.

'It is fine, headmistress. I explained to Mr Hallow your sudden urgent engagement and Miss Drill has taken your first year class out with the third year for a cross country run,' Constance explained, emphasising her displeasure at the run with a subtle underlying sarcasm in her tone. She could see the thanks in Amelia's eyes and nodded in agreement.

'Well ladies, I think that I have seen everything I needed to check up on here,' interjected Mr Hallow, packing his briefcase in preparation to leave.

'Thank you for your visit,' Amelia said, coming over to lead him out, 'we look forward to seeing you again.'

'Oh yes, there was one last thing I needed to tell you about,' recollected Mr Hallow, the smile fading ever so slightly from his face. Constance could feel her heartbeat beginning to race beneath her black silk gown; did she know already what he was about to say?

'Mistress Broomhead has expressed the desire to check up on how the school is running, following her inspections last year.' Constance had to gather all of her strength to prevent her legs from buckling beneath her; even then she swayed slightly on the spot. She saw her world crumbling around her, everything she held dear slipping slowly from her grasp. The colour drained immediately from her face, her pallor as white as the ghosts reappearing from her past and her eyes widened. It couldn't be happening; not now. Please not now...

Amelia looked hopelessly at Constance for a moment. When Mistress Broomhead had first visited Cackle's, she had seen the effect it had had on her deputy and even then it had frightened her. Miss Cackle could see that she was fighting to keep it together, her eyes flickering with fear she was trying desperately to conceal.

'But Mistress Broomhead no longer works as an inspector,' questioned Miss Cackle, unable to avert her gaze completely from her muted colleague.

'Yes that is true, but she wrote to me asking if she could see how the school was getting on and I invited her for a visit. There isn't a problem, is there?'

'No, no' Miss Cackle dismissed rather too quickly. 'When will she be arriving?'

Constance, who had been looking at the floor, raised her head slowly. Why did she already know the answer? Her breath caught in her throat, choking her and causing her lungs to fight for air it couldn't have.

'I believe she said Thursday,' Mr Hallow answered, oblivious to the plight of the woman beside him. Miss Cackle began to escort him out, feeling the strong vibe Constance was giving that she needed to be left alone; she couldn't blame her. Mistress Broomhead brought fear and trepidation wherever she went, but for Constance there was a history, locked behind closed doors and sealed against the rest of the world. Amelia shuddered to think of the effect such a woman could have on a child and her sad heart went out to Constance as she dared to look back; but Constance had vanished.

Reappearing in her room, Constance collapsed for a moment onto the bed. She let out a long staggered breath and allowed her head to rest momentarily in her hands. She had tried for so long to let go of Hecketty Broomhead, to let her memory die in the back of her mind and rot as she deserved. Yet here she was, back in her life once more and this time she had a purpose. Even now Constance could sense her determination and certainty; she had a task to perform, something that she needed to do and Constance knew now more than ever before that she was at its heart.

Coincidence was a word Constance saw only as a mask for a terrible truth, a veil behind which a monster lied. Allowing herself the indulgence of one moment to wallow in her misery, the misery she had carried since she had met that treacherous woman more than 30 years ago. She still had the scars of their last meeting, white skin still tender to the touch which brought the memories back; now each one burned, a warning of what was to come.

She stood, bringing herself to full height and banishing the emotions which only brought weakness. She had to be strong if she was to face her former tutor once more, though at least this time on a familiar battleground. Last time Hecketty had tainted the corridors of Cackle's Academy, it was a meeting of chance. Now, she had a motive and Constance knew that she would not leave without taking what she wanted.

Though as she stood in the seclusion of her room, fighting the involuntary trembling of her tall, lean frame, it felt as though she had already lost.

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><p><strong>Would very much appreciate review and coming soon...Broomhead returns...<strong>


	5. Chapter 5

**Me again :) Glad to see people are reading this and thanks to loyal reviewers! Next chapter should literally be up in about a day, as I cut a longer chapter in half as it was getting so long!**

**Please review, even a few words would be much appreciated!**

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><p><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

Constance was alone in the vacant classroom where she had spent so much time over the past ten years, packing her few possessions into a small bag as she prepared to leave the Witch Training College for the last time. At eighteen, she was the youngest witch ever to have graduated with her substantial level of qualifications, though she felt no pride in her achievement; to her, it was simply a pointless fact.

Now, Constance had the ability to go on and forge her own path, to become a teacher and pass her vast knowledge onto others; yet it was a path that was not truly hers. It had been chosen for her by Mistress Broomhead. Every aspect of her life had been controlled by Hecketty, every thought and every emotion compacted and locked away in the dark corners of her mind so that she could concentrate on her education.

Most would have relished the opportunity to harness and control their magic in the way that Constance knew she could; but it had come at a price.

She had accepted long ago that she would never truly be free. She belonged to Mistress Broomhead, the woman who raised her in her own image and taught her everything she knew, and she would never break free of the grasp she could feel even now, tight on her bony shoulder. Closing the bag, Constance let a shallow sigh escape her lips. She could hear the joyous cheers of others who had escaped, the brightness in their laughs echoing through the halls; another dagger into Constance's heart. She knew that she was still, even now, under her tutor's control.

Raising her long thing fingers, she concentrated. The words did not need to be spoken as she conjured a bird, a dove of virgin white which soared from her fingertips and flew across the room, singing as it basked in the warm sunlight streaming through the windows. Constance had many things from her life, but she could still appreciate the beauty of nature and its majesty in spite of the horrors which so often took over the world.

She watched it for a moment, circling the room before coming to rest on the windowsill. Without warning, it burst into flames and she heard the echoes of its last screams as it turned into ash before her eyes. Constance did not flinch; she knew that her tutor was standing behind her and she could feel her angry gaze penetrating deep into her soul.

'Well well, Constance,' came her sickeningly smooth tone, 'practising are we? I hardly think it necessary after the performance you gave in your final exams.' Constance knew better than to answer, but turned in silence to face Hecketty Broomhead. She had grown tall, standing several inches above Hecketty; yet even in the spacious room she felt belittled and confined in her presence.

'So young; and yet your skill surpasses any other witch I have seen,' Hecketty mused, moving closer to Constance. The corners of her mouth twitched as she saw how uneasy her pupil was; she was smart and she could guess what was coming.

'I suppose you will go on now,' she continued, 'take a position at a school and teach others what you know. I would guess that you have already received many offers of position.' Constance tried not to let her eyes move towards her bag. At the very bottom was a pile of letters, each asking her to consider a position at a certain establishment; how had Hecketty known? Constance had soon learnt not to question the impossible knowledge her tutor seemed to have.

There was a moment of awkward silence. Constance did not know whether to reply to Mistress Broomhead or make to leave. She could sense that Hecketty was watching her, daring her to act; she didn't have the time to.

Hecketty launched at her, like a cat pouncing upon its prey, taking her throat in her hand with the ease of someone practised in violence. Constance tried not to struggle, though she could see the malice burning in Mistress Broomhead's eyes. She was strong and her hand was forcing Constance's throat to collapse under the pressure, slowly suffocating her.

Constance saw spots dance before her eyes, barely able to keep her hold on the world as Hecketty crushed her throat. She choked as Hecketty threw her to the floor, gasping for breath as her body screamed for oxygen. Mistress Broomhead didn't give her time to recover, pulling her from the ground by her hair and throwing her against the wall. She looked at her in disgust,

'So weak Constance,' she said mockingly, watching her protégée struggle to stay conscious before her.

'I expected better from you.' She sent a bolt of crimson energy which crackled like electricity as it hit Constance in the abdomen. She bit her lip, drawing blood as she suppressed an agonising scream and doubled over.

'GET UP!' Spat Hecketty. Constance forced herself to oblige, battling her body to straighten up and raise her tired head. She could feel a trickle of blood caressing her cheek and her hands trembling involuntarily; she could not crumble, she knew that much, but Hecketty was pushing her to the limit. She had endured worse, she remembered painfully, but the force with which her tutor was punishing her felt as though it could extend far further.

Hecketty moved closer to her and whispered in her ear, her breath rancid and her tone full of contempt.

'I own you.' She didn't need to say anything else. As she moved away, she could see that Constance understood, and would always know.

As a parting gift, she summoned all of the magic she could muster to her fingers and curling her mouth into a malicious grin, her eyes bright at the thought of what she was about to do.

'You know the day, 22 years from now. Sweet dreams, Constance.'

Constance closed her eyes, defeated as she saw Hecketty ready her casting fingers. Mistress Broomhead spared nothing, held nothing back, as she unleashed the uncontrolled power of her magic onto her pupil. She watched her scream, the sound like a song of sorrow cracking through the air, and laughed as she writhed, still fighting to keep face as Hecketty pushed her to the brink.

After what seemed like forever, Mistress Broomhead staggered back. In a last ditch attempt, Constance's incredible magic had moved to defend her when she didn't dare and had stopped the energy coursing through her veins, returning it to its master and causing her to retreat a few paces. Constance lay motionless on the floor, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth and pooling where she had hit her head on the hard stone wall.

She was truly broken, but no flash of guilt ran through Hecketty's mind; she had needed a warning, one which would last in her mind until the day that she returned and this had to be how it was, it had to happen.

Hecketty vanished, leaving Constance lying semi-conscious on the ground. She let the last cry of anguish, the sound of a dying animal but barely a whisper on the wind as her strength failed her. Her magic could only do so much, allowing her to hang on as she waited for someone, anyone, to find her. It took three hours for her to be discovered, closer to the brink than she had ever been, and she spent months recovering in seclusion; she would never forget.

Xxx

Constance had not slept for a moment since the realisation that she was, once more, to face the woman that had made her life unbearable for so long. Her mind was haunted by the images, returning to her every waking moment, of her time at Witch Training College. Miss Cackle, she had noticed, could see how it was bothering her but Amelia knew better than to ask. She could sense that this was something Constance would always keep to herself, her past masked to the outside world and kept only between herself and her former tutor; for that, Constance was grateful.

Thursday came far too quickly, the world passing by in the blink of an eye before Constance realised that in a few short moments, she would have to face her deepest fear again. There was nothing she could do. She hated feeling so powerless, so trapped in the fate she knew would come but still couldn't quite understand.

It was today, the day she had feared since she was eight years old. If she hadn't been so dismissive considering the impending arrival, she would have taken notice of the way her fingers twitched ever so slightly every few seconds. She would have realised that her breathing was shallow and her heart was racing. All of these things she attributed to stress and, though she would never allow it to manifest, fear. She couldn't guess that her body was preparing itself.

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><p><strong>Bit of a random point to stop for but review and Hecketty will soon be making an appearance!<strong>

**More very soon**


	6. Chapter 6

**F****orgive a quickie note as I am publishing two chapters at once :) Role on the fanfare! It was one chapter but I didn't want to make it too long (I know, many lols) so I am hoping that it works :)**

**Has been a pleasure to write these next 2 chaps and I would love some feedback. Enjoy them! There is a LOT more to come!**

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><p><strong>Chapter 6<strong>

Constance stood behind Miss Cackle at the front gates as they waited in the bracing morning air for Mistress Broomhead's arrival. Neither had uttered a word since they had left the castle, though Constance could sense that Amelia wanted to say something to her but couldn't quite find the right words.

As Hecketty strode through Walker's Gate and stood before them, her eyes locked instantly with Constance's. Amelia could see the sparks pass between them, knowledge that only the two of them shared resurfacing and old emotions running high once more.

'Good morning Mistress Broomhead,' welcomed Miss Cackle, forcing a smile upon her reluctant face.

'Yes, how...pleasant to be back here again,' Hecketty replied, though her expression told a different tale. Although she was speaking to Miss Cackle, the headmistress could see that her attention was transfixed on her deputy and she tried not to allow it to bother her.

'It's a pleasure to have you back, Mistress Broomhead,' Constance said, trying to keep her tone confident and unshaken as possible could, despite her composure threatening to slip as she stared into the unfathomable eyes of evil.

'Hmm,' Hecketty pondered the greeting for a moment before allowing a small smile to creep onto her face. Amelia saw it as an attempt to reciprocate her welcome, but Constance could see; it was meant for her.

They walked briskly across the main courtyard, Constance following a step behind but feeling the unnerving sensation that Hecketty was watching her, analysing her presence even as she walked in front. It had taken many years to overcome the fear of even the mention of her name and now she felt like a reprimanded child, falling back into the ways of her youth after minutes with her former tutor.

Miss Bat and Miss Drill were ready in the staffroom to serve Mistress Broomhead tea upon arrival. Imogen saw the three woman walk in and her eyes snapped immediately to Constance, whose normally pale complexion had turned to a rather meek shade of grey. Their eyes met for a second and Imogen understood what the deputy headmistress was trying to tell her wordlessly; don't you dare worry about me, there are matters of greater importance. How she could understand that from even the briefest glance was enough for Imogen to realise the extent of the power Constance Hardbroom could yield over others, despite the fact that she was still held under such control by her former tutor.

'I trust that you remember our other senior members of staff,' said Miss Cackle as she took Hecketty's cloak. Constance moved from behind the headmistress to stand by the fireplace, subconsciously placing her hand on the cold stone mantelpiece; this alone illustrated to her colleagues her unease.

'Would you like some tea?' asked Davina politely.

'Yes, but we must make haste! I am only here for one day and I wish to evaluate the extensive workings of the school within this time.' Her tone was, as usual, overpowering and harsh; Amelia noticed Constance trying not to flinch as her former tutor raised her voice. What demons lay in her past?

The bell rang to announce the commencing of morning lessons, a welcome break which cut through the uncomfortable silence in the staffroom. Mistress Broomhead had taken Constance's usual seat; Amelia wondered whether this was by chance or coincidence, though she guessed that the latter rarely occurred around such a controlling witch.

Hecketty lowered her cup and rose to her feet.

'The start of a new day,' she announced, as though it was important news, 'now where will I be observing first?' Constance did not need to look at her; she could feel the gaze burning hot into the nape of her neck. Everyone in the room knew precisely what she was going to say.

'Constance!' Hecketty barked. Constance turned to face Mistress Broomhead, like a soldier called to arms.

'Yes Mistress Broomhead?' Her eyes were always the ones to betray her, she thought, as she stared deeply into the bottomless black pools of her former tutor's eyes.

'I believe that you have third year potions first thing this morning; is that correct?'

'Yes, that is correct.' Constance was fighting hard against her voice, which persisted to try and shake as she spoke to the terrifying woman before her. She had to control it; any sign of weakness and Hecketty would be relentless.

'I wish to observe your class and then for you to take me through your lesson plans during your following free period,' Hecketty demanded; it was not a request.

'Of course Mistress Broomhead, we shall leave at once.' Constance led Hecketty from the staffroom, her eyes darting for a moment towards Miss Cackle who looked at a loss as of what to do. She wanted to help her deputy, who so obviously could not break the mysterious control Hecketty had over her, but knew that there was nothing to be done.

After she had left, Miss Cackle turned to Miss Bat and Miss Drill, her expression sincerely forlorn.

'She has something against Constance,' Davina said, voicing the obvious.

'Yes well we know they have a history; the question is why she is so preoccupied with her on this particular occasion,' reasoned Amelia.

'Poor Constance; a whole morning with Broomhead and her obvious hidden agenda,' pondered Miss Drill. She saw that the headmistress looked distant, pensive as she paced slowly from one end of the room to the other.

'What is it, Miss Cackle?' whispered Davina.

'It's...it's just that today; well, Constance did have today underlined in her diary. She said it was an error, but perhaps she was not being entirely honest,' Miss Cackle explained.

'You think that it might have something to do with Mistress Broomhead's visit?' questioned Imogen. Miss Cackle nodded solemnly.

'I do not believe in coincidence, Imogen. I have never seen Constance so...' she couldn't find quite the right word. Constance never appeared vulnerable, even now, and she hid her feelings well; if she was fearful of Mistress Broomhead, she only showed a glimmer of unease despite her obvious fight to retain her composure.

'But what can we do?' asked Davina, almost desperately. Amelia faltered; there was nothing more that they could do. They had no reason to suspect Hecketty, despite the coincidental date, and her authority despite her retirement still allowed her to be held in such a high regard within the magical world. The headmistress shook her head, feeling aggravated at how useless they were. She thought of Constance, left for hours with Mistress Broomhead and weakened by her presence alone; she just hoped that Constance had the will and control to survive this one day unscathed.

Xxx

Constance hesitated slightly at coming to the door of her potions laboratory, her safe haven about to be violated by her greatest secret and the darkness of her past.

'Well Constance, get a move on!' snapped Mistress Broomhead from behind her, causing Constance's hand to jump slightly before reaching for the handle.

Mildred Hubble sat staring wistfully out of the window from her seat on the third bench of the potions lab, watching the sun shine across the forest and sparkle serenely in the cerulean sky; why was it always that things seemed so beautiful when they were out of reach? Her head jerked towards the door, bringing her out of her daze, as Miss Hardbroom entered the classroom. Usually, she was either at the front of the classroom before they entered or materialised there at an impromptu moment, to catch them off guard; she never came in through the door.

Her mouth fell open as she saw the woman following her teacher into the room. She looked at her friends, Maud Moonshine and Enid Nightshade, who were sat at either side of her; their expressions mirrored her own and neither could say a word. Mildred looked back at her teacher, who was trying to keep a strong front as she strode to the front of her classroom and conjured a chair beside her desk for Mistress Broomhead.

It was only a flicker, not quite of emotion but perhaps of thought which flitted across Miss Hardbroom's face for less than a second. It was enough, however, to tell Mildred that her tutor was ill at ease and that alone tightened the knot in her stomach; if Miss Hardbroom was worried, even in the slightest, then they should all be terrified.

'Quiet!' shouted Miss Hardbroom, commanding silence which was immediately obliged; the girls knew better than to anger their teacher in the presence of Hecketty Broomhead.

'As you will have noticed, Mistress Broomhead is to observe today's lesson and I wish for you all to treat our guest with the upmost respect. Now...' Miss Hardbroom began to explain the potion they would be making that day, a more advanced version of the one they had been learning how to brew, but few of her pupils were paying attention and she could feel their attention slipping away as she turned to write the ingredients on the board.

'Did you see the look on HB's face?' hissed Mildred, aware that Hecketty's eyes were staring in her direction in particular.

'What look?' asked Maud.

'Didn't you see it? Just for a second she looked, well, worried' breathed Enid.

'Now that is a scary thought.'

'Girls!' Miss Hardbroom turned on her heel, leaving the chalk writing on its own on the board which, she noticed, received many startled looks from the students. She had no time for pride as she looked across at the guilty faces of the usual culprits.

'Why am I not surprised,' she said shaking her head slightly. 'Please, tell everyone what was so fascinating?'

'Nothing Miss,' replied Mildred, as usual a little too quickly. Normally Miss Hardbroom would have scolded her further, but knowing how Hecketty might react to the girl if she thought that she was still misbehaving...She knew from experience how the woman enjoyed a challenge and relished in the fact that she could tame even the most tarnished of souls; of course, not through any means she wished to remember.

'Hmm, well let's just hope I don't hear another sound from **any** of you; other than of course the wonderous noise of someone actually taking notes on my lesson?' At this suggestion, everyone in the class pulled a piece of paper towards them and started to copy from the board.

Xxx

As the lesson drew to an end, Constance felt as though it had lasted twice as long as any other. She had already been grilled by Hecketty over how she generally handled her class, her disciplinary measures and how best to instil traditional values; she felt, however, more assured by the presence of her class as she talked with Hecketty. Witnesses, she thought darkly, though she shook this idea away at once. The stress of having her former tutor in the room as she taught was bearing heavily down on her shoulders and she could feel a headache forming at the back of her head; she ignored it as always.

'Mine is definitely wrong,' muttered Mildred solemnly, staring at the light green mixture bubbling in her cauldron as she stirred it slowly. She looked across at Maud's, then to Enid's; both were a light blue, covered in a layer of froth alien to the concoction she had created.

Miss Hardbroom walked over and saw the sight that was Mildred's attempt at a sleeping draught. She sighed heavily; why did it still surprise her after so long? The added stress of Mildred's failure was not aiding her throbbing head, though she was wary of Mistress Broomhead's presence close by as she too walked around checking the quality of the potions.

'Mildred, what have you done?' asked Miss Hardbroom, her voice just above a whisper to avoid the suspicions of her former tutor.

'I...I don't honestly know Miss,' Mildred replied truthfully. 'Perhaps I put too much pondweed in...'

'Pondweed?' Constance had to bite her tongue to stop her from bellowing at the incompetent child before her.

'Mildred, that is not even laid out on the table let alone on the list of ingredients.' Mildred looked down ashamedly, realising that she had, as usual, ruined the potion.

What happened next was a surprise for both teacher and pupil. With a swift, brief glance over her shoulder Constance looked down at Mildred's potion and ran every ingredient through her mind.

'As much as you have made a complete debacle of a simple potion, your error is retrievable. If you were to add some passion flower and stir for three minutes at a low heat then it could counteract the pondweed,' she whispered, catching Mildred's eye as she silently conjured a single budding flower which rested gently beside her pupil's hand. Mildred mouthed a quick 'thank you' and added the flower whilst her teacher was still hiding her cauldron from view, lowering the intensity of the fire with her magic.

By the end of the lesson, Mildred's potion had turned a soft pastel blue and some froth was appearing at the edges of the cauldron. It was not perfect, but it would certainly do. She made a note of the use of passion flower in her notes, which she hid subtly in her bag from the prying eyes of Mistress Broomhead who seemed to be watching her even more closely.

'Now girl,' addressed Miss Hardbroom, 'take a few drops of the potion and apply them to the frogs on your desks. They should cease from croaking and fall asleep if the potion has worked correctly.' She could not help her eyes flitting across to see Mildred's mixture as she took a spoon of it from the cauldron, and was relieved to see that it had reached a more acceptable standard.

Mildred dropped four drops of the blue liquid onto the frog, which croaked loudly once before hopping lazily within its box for a few moments. It took a while, but eventually it fell still and silent, sleeping quietly.

'Well done girls,' praised Miss Hardbroom, observing the results from the front of the class, 'I can see that most of the potions seem to have worked quickly and effectively. I would like a 500 word essay on the method and importance of sleeping draughts to be in for next Monday, but for now you may go to your next lesson.'

They each made to leave more quickly than usual, eager to escape from Mistress Broomhead's piercing glare; even when saying nothing, they feared her far more than their strict potions mistress.

'What did HB do?' whispered Maud as they made their way to chanting.

'She told me how to salvage the potion,' replied Mildred honestly.

'Why?' asked Enid, confused at why their teacher would not jump at the chance to give Mildred yet another night of detention this term.

'I think Mistress Broomhead is affecting her more than she's letting on,' admitted Mildred.

'I know she's scary, but nothing scares HB,' pondered Enid.

'And that's the most worrying thing,' noted Mildred pensively.

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><p><strong>Read on for more of evil Broomhead... but maybe stop for a little tiny review first :)<strong>


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Constance organised the papers on her desk, stacking them into neat piles as the girls made their way to their next lesson. She soon became dreadfully aware that she was alone with Hecketty, and could feel her icy stare despite trying to concentrate on organising her paperwork.

'Constance?' Her voice was soft and smooth, her tone sly and knowing. Constance straightened and turned towards her tutor to answer.

'Yes Mistress Broomhead?'

'What were you doing to Mildred's potion?' She scolded herself for ever thinking that the incident would have gone unnoticed; Hecketty saw everything, even the things that it was impossible for her to see, and she was not going to let it pass. Constance opened her mouth, prepared to attempt a reprieve though knowing it would be in vain.

'Don't lie to me!' Mistress Broomhead hissed, springing to her feet like a mammal ready to attack. The malice in her tone was surprising and Constance jumped ever so slightly.

'You helped her with her potion, did you not?' Hecketty's eyes burned with intensity. Constance had forgotten just how vindictive this woman could be.

'I pointed out to her that she had made an error, but the potion was retrievable,' she explained, trying to keep her tone calm.

'She will never learn if you correct her mistakes. It appears that you have gone soft, Constance; helping your pupils with their failures. I never thought that I would see that from you.' Constance knew where this was going. She could feel the hunger in Hecketty's stance, and as she moved closer to Constance she could feel her breath lightly brushing against her face. She hated being this close to anyone; it invaded her personal space which was something she valued highly, though she was not about to ask her former tutor to move back. Hecketty knew exactly how to unnerve her, to make her feel smaller than an microbe in her perfect world and as though she had failed once more.

Hecketty moved away, a terrible grin spreading across her wrinkled face.

'Perhaps the girl needs a word of encouragement,' she suggested, aware that her former protégée knew exactly to what she was referring. Constance's eyes grew wide. She would not wish one minute alone with Mistress Broomhead to her worst enemy; Mildred, she admitted, needed discipline to truly utilise her potential, but no child deserved that.

'No,' Constance interjected quickly, 'I...I will deal with her. You are right Mistress Broomhead and I assure you that it won't happen again.' Constance hated the way she sounded, bending to her will and falling once again into her control within an hour of her presence within the school, her school. She had never been submissive, if anything forcing her will on others and knowing that it was in their best interests; now she felt once more like a voiceless pupil.

Turning on her heel, Mistress Broomhead faced Constance with a stern and serious expression etched into her stone-like face.

'Well then, you need to be reminded of your position in this school. You have authority and the girls need to see that you are capable of using it.' She flicked her wrist carelessly, shooting sparks at Constance's hand which caused her to recoil; a reflex action she could not control. She looked at her fingers, perfectly functioning, she discovered, as she produced a few sparks; but small red blisters were forming which began to cover her entire hand. They burned, the sensation strong and unyielding as the small scarlet marks became part of her skin and the pain coursed through her arm. She tried not to let on how much it had affected her; after all, it was just a simple spell and Constance did not want to give Mistress Broomhead the satisfaction of knowing she had hurt her.

The smile spreading darkly across Mistress Broomhead's face told her that she already knew how Constance was feeling.

'Sorry Constance,' she said mockingly, feigning innocence, 'slip of the hand. Now, where were those lesson plans?' She sat once again at the chair beside Constance's desk and conjured two cups of tea. Constance sat at her desk and pulled the stack of files from beneath her desk, clearing the rest of her paperwork to the staffroom with a swift movement of her own damaged hand. She tried her best not to flinch, but the pain would not cease and she knew that Mistress Broomhead would not allow her to find an antidote whilst she was in the room.

She looked down at the tea, sensing the strong smell of an unknown herb wafting from the deep brown liquid. Constance knew that there was nothing she could do. She would have to drink the tea, despite its unknown contents; and both of them knew it. As she took the cup gingerly in her hands and sipped the strong fragrant mixture, she knew that Hecketty's visit was not the coincidence she had been hoping for, begging for.

Mistress Broomhead did not smile, but like Constance her eyes gave her delight away; she allowed them to. This level of control over another human being, especially one with the power she knew Constance had, was her ecstasy. She could feel her heart pounding and her fingers tingling as she watched her drink, her hand still tender from her spell. Old habits never died.

Xxx

As the bell rang for morning break, Amelia was pacing cross the staffroom. Davina and Imogen entered the room together shortly after, chatting trivially as though everything was normal. Miss Drill was first to note the headmistress's obvious concern and ushered Davina to make them all some tea.

'What is it Miss Cackle?' she asked gently.

'I don't know Imogen,' replied Amelia honestly, 'I just get the feeling that things are not as they should be. I have always been rather adept at sensing things, ever since I was a child; and I can feel it, in the air. Something is wrong, and I don't think I shall have to look far to find the cause.' Imogen collapsed into one of the armchairs by the fire, the blackened coals cold and weak as the warmth was provided by sun cascading through the open window.

'Miss Cackle, you can't worry about Constance. She is a very adept witch and she has had dealings with Mistress Broomhead before; she can handle herself. You weren't like this last time she visited,' Miss Drill pointed out.

'True,' thought Amelia, taking the mug offered to her by her humming colleague, 'but something feels different this time. I can't help but worry, especially after the way Hecketty looked at her this morning.'

As if on cue, Constance appeared in the staffroom from nowhere, her arms folded across her chest. She moved straight to the fireplace, something she often did subconsciously when she was stressed or upset, and made to put rest her hand on the mantle though pulled back.

'Constance!' exclaimed Miss Cackle. She was relieved to see her deputy, though she was unsure why; her presence simply made her relax. The headmistress noticed, however, that despite herself Constance appeared greatly twitchy and was not quite able look any of them in the eye.

'Would you like some tea?' asked Miss Bat innocently.

'No,' Constance replied, a tad too quickly though she did not elaborate.

'How was it?' asked Imogen from her armchair.

'Fine,' lied Constance convincingly, 'she was a little...shall we say thorough and I did have to save Mildred's potion once again. I have persuaded Mr Blossom to give her a tour of the new herb garden, though she wants to go over finances with you and I in your office Miss Cackle. Miss Bat will you take the first years meant to be in my class with the rest to your chanting practice?' Davina nodded at once, knowing better than to inquire further.

Amelia noticed how Constance had taken her left hand subconsciously in her right and seemed to be nursing it.

'Constance, what happened to your hand?' Constance's head snapped up, her eyes alert and harbouring the fury usually reserved for her pupils. She moved quickly to her bag, lying by her desk at the other side of the room, and found a potion at the very bottom without a label.

'It is nothing headmistress, a potion gone awry. If you will excuse me, I have something I need to do and will meet you with Mistress Broomhead in your office shortly.' She folded her arms and vanished once more into nothingness, leaving her colleagues confused and stunned.

'What was that all about?' Imogen asked Miss Cackle.

'I don't know, but she looked like she had damaged her hand; and I can guess that it was not down to a potion.' Amelia shuddered, thinking of the hold Hecketty seemed to have over a woman who, in other circumstances, was the strongest and most assertive witch that she knew.

Xxx

The day dragged on, an endless sequence of events which passed from one lesson to the next with reluctance. After lunch, Hecketty had been forced to relinquish the watchful eye she had been keeping over Constance as she evaluated both Miss Bat and Miss Drill's performances in lessons. She had no interest in their teaching abilities, no plans to even take note of what they were doing; her purpose was solely for her, for Constance.

As the final bell of the day rang, Constance could not help but breathe a subtle sigh of relief. She dismissed the second years with an unnecessarily large amount of homework to be completed over the weekend and prayed that Hecketty would not linger after the conclusion of the school day.

The potion she had taken earlier had masked the burns on her hand so that only she could see or feel them, and although she never normally indulged in pain relieving potions, she had taken a dose in secret during the lunch hour. Despite this, her hand still throbbed and ached as she gathered the marking and papers which would fill her free weekend hours and disappeared leaving the remaining dawdling pupils to gasp in surprise.

Arriving in the staffroom, she laid her work down at her desk and began to organise it. Already, the dark varnished wood had vanished beneath the sea of white which she had collected through her day and she would never leave it in such a state; it just wasn't her. Constance noticed how her hand had twinged unnaturally after her use of magic and made a mental note to familiarise herself with the spell which had caused it after Mistress Broomhead's departure.

Amelia walked Hecketty into the room, noting Constance's presence without looking up.

'I hope that you have had a productive visit Mistress Broomhead,' the headmistress said falsely, hoping that it would suggest to their guest that she was outstaying a welcome she had never truly been given.

'Yes, it has been very useful.' If Miss Cackle had known her better, she would have detected the secrets masked in her stern and forceful tone. Constance recognised them straight away, a shiver running involuntarily down her spine.

'Ah yes,' said Mistress Broomhead, acting as though she had remembered something though in reality she had simply been waiting for the opportune moment.

'Constance, I have something for you.' Constance felt her blood run cold in her veins, ice enveloping her as she turned to face Hecketty who was smiling. To others, it appeared an unusual though friendly gesture though her eyes told Constance that there was malice in her words. She reached into her bag, carried on her person as always, and pulled out a thin white envelope.

'Your mother asked me to give this to you on your 40th birthday, before she passed away.' Constance knew that these were lies, but she sighed inwardly as she felt Miss Cackle accept this as truth. She always had a way of making everyone believe her, even when her misconceptions were easy to see.

Constance took the envelope, trying to stop her hand from trembling. The writing, she could sense, had been magically altered to mimic another's hand and she could feel the parchment warm beneath her fingers. There was a deep, ancient magic contained within this envelope and she did not wish to discover what it was. Constance despised cowards, though on this occasion she knew that she would not dare to open the letter if she could help it; for once in her life she would rather run away from the truth.

'Th-thank you, Mistress Broomhead,' she managed, scolding herself for stuttering. She had not stuttered since she was five, and that had long since been beaten out of her.

'With that, I bid you all good day. No need to show me out Amelia, I know where it is by now. Cackle's, it seems, has passed another review with flying colours; you should be proud of your school, Miss Cackle.' Her tone was sickly sweet; even Miss Cackle could sense the deception which lay within the words. She simply nodded and thanked her for visiting before allowing her to make her way out.

Silence fell over the room, awkward and uninvited. Everyone was looking at Constance, that she was painfully aware of, but she could not take her eyes from the envelope. This was it, she thought. This was the reason today was a day she had feared since childhood. If there had been an ounce of curiosity in her mind, she would have opened it right then; but there wasn't. She would rather die not knowing and as long as nothing happened, as long as nothing went wrong, she would never have to open it. Constance tucked the letter into her bag and continued to sort her papers as though nothing had happened.

'Constance?' Amelia asked gently, moving cautiously towards her deputy. She had never thought that it could be Constance's birthday; she was the type of person who one never imagined to celebrate such an occasion, and a little voice in the back of her mind told her that she never had.

'What is it, headmistress?' Constance did not look up.

'I...I never knew, about your mother I mean; I'm sorry.'

'There is no need. It was a long time ago and I never really knew her.' Constance was surprised by the pain those words brought to her, even now. She had never even seen her mother, never even held a picture. She could have been tall or short, happy or funny, sullen or kind and she would never know. Her father had never spoken of her and Constance had learned not to ask.

'And you never said that it was your birthday' Amelia knew that she was treading in unfamiliar and unwelcoming waters. Constance hated drawing unnecessary attention to herself; she hated the limelight and despised personal questions. Anything not plain to see about her was a closely guarded secret. Amelia realised at that moment that she had not even known how old her deputy headmistress was until that point.

'It is simply another day of the year; I will not tolerate a fuss,' Constance insisted sharply, a warning in case the headmistress had anything planned. A warning too that no-one else should be told this betrayal of personal information.

'As you wish Constance,' said Miss Cackle, defeated.

'Did I hear the word birthday?' Davina appeared at the door with Imogen close behind, humming a merry tune to herself as she realised that Hecketty had finally left the building.

'Er...' Miss Cackle did not know quite what to say, though it turned out that she did not need to.

'Mine, Davina, now if I hear one more word on the subject I will turn the person who mentioned that word into a very unpleasant creature.' She was on the verge of shouting and at her words, Davina's smile vanished; she quickly ran to seek solace in the stationary cupboard. Imogen rolled her eyes.

Constance levitated the papers and her bag, folded her arms and disappeared along with her work. Moments later, Miss Bat poked her head out from behind the wooden cupboard door and surveyed the situation.

'Are we really going to let her get away with not having a birthday? It seems so...morose,' said Imogen, walking over to the fruit bowl and selecting herself an apple. At the mention of the word, Davina erupted from her cupboard flailing her arms in wild excitement.

'We could have a party! With presents and banners-'

'No, Davina. I am sorry to have to burst your ever enthusiastic bubble, but Constance is not the sort of person to appreciate that sort of thing,' Miss Cackle explained kindly, imaging her deputy's reaction to such a personal occasion and shuddering.

'You're right Miss Cackle,' said Imogen swallowing another bite of fresh green apple, 'but I still feel bad letting it go like this.'

'Perhaps we might think more on this over the weekend, if her mood improves. I daresay that Hecketty Broomhead's visit has put her more on edge than usual,' reasoned Miss Cackle.

Xxx

Constance sat alone in the potions laboratory, furiously marking the second year mock exam papers. She felt the burning humiliation which came as her personal life was beginning to become exposed and wished that Hecketty had just given her the letter in private; but she couldn't do that, could she? She had to make it a public occasion, to single her out and place the light on her as she hated.

The pen broke, ink splashing across Valerie Willow's work and Constance let out a disgruntled sigh. She flexed her fingers violently so that the ink and pen disappeared from view and paused a moment, closing her eyes and breathing in slowly. She felt out of sorts, her mind not quite able to focus and her head throbbing. Constance felt a wave of dizziness, as the world seemed to leave her for a moment but it passed as soon as it had come. She opened her eyes to note that her hands had curled into fists, her nails digging deeply into the palms of her hands. Her mind flashed back to the tea, the tang of which she could still taste at the back of her throat; but she dismissed it and returned to her work. As always, she carried on.

Xxx

That night, as the moon watched in hesitancy hanging in the inky blue sky, Constance appeared in her room. She had excused herself early from the staffroom, before dinner had even arrived, and she had been brewing spare potions in the laboratory to replenish dwindling stocks. It had come on suddenly, as though a switch had been flicked in her head. She had been bottling hiccoughing potions when she had been overcome by the poignant odour it emitted, not being able to stand the usually passive smell the concoction was giving off.

As she dressed in her purple silk pajamas, quickly adding her black dressing gown to cover the truth about her past written across her arms, she felt unusually tired. Normally, she could stay awake until the early hours before even contemplating taking some wide awake potion, but even after having taken a dose she could barely keep her eyes from closing. Constance stumbled over to her bed, concerned by how her limbs did not seem to be doing what she asked of them and rubbed her temples in the hope of dismissing the pain and drowsiness slowly taking over her body. She could still taste the tea in the back of her throat and then she realised what it was; the unusual herb she had not been able to place. How had she been so unable to identify such a common herb?

Valerian, a herb used for sedation in powerful sleeping draughts. It had worked its way through her system throughout the day and was finally pulling her into a comatose-like sleep. As it won the battle, forcing her impossibly heavy eyelids to close, Constance could swear that she felt another presence in the room.

Mistress Broomhead looked down at her former pupil with a grin. She noted the letter, unopened and lying on her desk beneath some marking. Hecketty had known that she would not open it and had expected it; she had never been the curious type. She knew, however, that one day she would read the words written inside. She would read the truth about herself, her power and her destiny.

Hecketty moved closer to the bed, knowing Constance would sleep soundly for many more hours. She raised her hands and began to chant:

_Mater virtus, viribus demat_

_Pariet parvalus,in fortitudo et gaudium_

_Et erit mihi_

She watched Constance writhe and gasp in her troubled slumber as a ball of bright light, a light of the purest and untainted white, erupted from her fingers and settled in Constance, fading as it became part of her. Mistress Broomhead laughed and could not wipe the smile from her face as she disappeared, leaving Constance to sleep. Everything had fallen into place, as she knew that it would. This day had been foretold for generations, though a greater day was coming.

This was only the beginning.

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><p><strong>Tiny note asking kindly and with treats for review :) I have exams tomorrow and it would make my day <strong>

**xx Thanks so much to reviewers so far, you guys are the best XD**


	8. Chapter 8

**Couldn't stay away for too long XD Longest chapter yet, hope you enjoy it! Plenty more to come...**

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><p><strong>Chapter 8<strong>

Miss Cackle woke from the peaceful slumber of relief, allowing herself to steal a few extra minutes in the warmth and comfort of her bed before rising for the day. The sun was masked behind a barrier of unrelenting cloud, the sky a dark grey blanket stretching across to beyond the horizon. The trees were beginning to shed their amber leaves as the memories of summer started to fade into the past. Everything was calm and still, birds singing the music of the morning and not a breath of wind to disturb the harmony of such a beautiful day.

Dressing slowly in a simple black dress and grey cardigan, Amelia looked at the pictures of her family which adorned her bedside table; happy faces stared up at her, smiling children on birthdays or at Christmas. She found herself wondering if Constance had any photos in her room; something told her that she did not.

Constance had never before spoken of her family, or of her life before the academy had become her home many years ago. Amelia knew that she stayed during the holidays, even if she would never admit to it and it did make her sad to think of her deputy alone within an empty castle, working at her desk as the rest of the world relished the freedom.

She would never presume to tell Constance how to live her life, that wasn't how she liked to talk to people; but she did wish that once in a while something other than work would occupy her time. Amelia did not like to say, but she could see how work ruled Constance Hardbroom's life and she often wondered what effect it had on her personality.

From the first day she had arrived at the academy to take the position of potions mistress, Miss Cackle could tell that she was full of determination and skill. Usually she would never have considered a woman so young for such a prestigious position, but Constance had been more than qualified and took naturally to the role of disciplinarian and dedicated potions teacher, something which had been lacking in the school.

Since that day, Amelia had never discovered anything further about her deputy's life. She felt a pang of guilt at never having even asked, as she had done with all of the other staff who had come and gone over the years. Constance had been there throughout the many hardships of the academy, the one continual link as others passed them by; yet she had never completely gotten to know her.

Of course, Miss Cackle knew that Constance had not changed much over the years and would probably never have answered any personal questions even then; but she had never even inquired. She wondered how things may have been different if she had done so. After the aversion of a disaster, sometimes she could feel Constance's barrier slip slightly; whether it was the ghost of a smile across her face or simply an apology, there were hints of the woman underneath who did, on occasion, show herself.

But now, Miss Cackle feared it was too late to break the icy cage Miss Hardbroom had locked herself away in. The demeanour she disguised herself in, the strict potions mistress, was becoming all that she was whilst Amelia could tell that there had, at least at one time, been something more. Placing her glasses on the top of her head, she puzzled over Constance's past.

Working backwards, she realised that Constance must have spent much of her youth under Mistress Broomhead's guidance. If she had achieved all of the qualifications Miss Cackle could remember, then she must have been at the Witch Training College for at least ten years and by the time she graduated...

Images flashed across Amelia's mind of a child, barely twelve years old, sitting exams beside witches five years older than she was and of that same child being taught magic which should be beyond her by an unyielding tutor, strict to the point of cruelty. She shook the pictures from her mind. She could not make assumptions on such rough estimations, it wasn't fair. Despite this, something told her that Mistress Broomhead had played a large part in Constance's upbringing and she felt compassion for a woman who had obviously suffered many years under a witch that even Amelia feared at times.

Xxx

'Morning Constance,' Amelia said instinctively as she walked into the staffroom sorting through the post which she had just picked up from her office.

'She isn't here,' said Davina dismissively as she moved to make Miss Cackle her morning cup of tea,

'I thought she must have had a meeting with you.' Amelia looked up, losing interest in the letters she had been holding.

'No,' replied Miss Cackle, a little concern creeping into her tone, 'she always comes here first thing on a morning; every day she has worked here. Is she not on breakfast duty?'

Davina shook her head, several strands of her wild and unkempt hair falling across her face from the loose bun held together only by the conductors baton she had stuck into it. She handed the headmistress the steaming mug of tea, suddenly aware of how unnerved she became in Constance's absence. It was as though her deputy was her safety net, her constant and secure stronghold within the castle; without her, she was lost.

'Imogen is watching the girls at the moment. I am sure there is a reasonable explanation, Miss Cackle,' Miss Bat assured her, the rationality of her tone unusual for a woman whose greatest joys in life were eating flowers and singing to herself in the solace of a cupboard.

'Yes,' Amelia admitted managing a small smile, though not whole-heartedly believing her wanton colleague.

There was something that simply did not feel right. She could not quite place it, but the awkward and stagnant silence which filled the room only served to drive her worry. Amelia sat in an armchair by the fire to go through her correspondence, which seemed in the light of things to have lost their significance. She glanced at the clock on the wall, reading quarter to eight; it was perfectly feasible that Constance could have taken a walk to clear her head after the previous day's harrowing events.

So why couldn't she believe that to be true?

Amelia tried to dismiss her wayward fears, in spite of everything that had happened the previous day. Constance was allowed to have some time to herself before lessons began at half past; she didn't _have _to be in the staffroom working every morning. In other circumstances, the headmistress would have encouraged her to do so, but today it simply felt wrong. Why could the others not see it? Miss Cackle supposed it was because they had not known her as long as she had, didn't realise how strict and unchanging Constance's routine had become over the years. She had considered such self-discipline to be unhealthy at times, but now she craved the order her deputy brought to stop her heart from pounding relentlessly in her chest.

Xxx

It was a normal morning. Rain began to fall, the gentle patter of droplets splashing against the old slate tiles of the roof sounding across the castle. The clock ticked away slowly, enunciating every second which passed and seeming to refuse to allow time to run at its normal pace. Every minute at least, Amelia stared at the clock and then the door in turn, half expecting Constance to burst in at any moment.

There was an emptiness which Miss Cackle could feel, one usually permeated by the presence of her deputy headmistress. On a morning, she would simply sit at her desk or at the table working in silence, with only the scratching of her pen on the paper to even indicate her position; yet without her there, there was a void which only she could fill and it was becoming more apparent by the second.

Imogen strode into the room looking considerably flustered. With only ten minutes left before the start of the school day, she had walked into the staffroom to collect her things before encouraging the reluctant fourth years to participate in a game of badminton; but she could feel it to. Something made her stop in the middle of the room and look round; it was as thought something was missing.

'Where's Miss Hardbroom?' Amelia turned to her and immediately Imogen could see from the headmistress' eyes that all was not as it should be.

'We don't know,' confessed Miss Cackle, 'I was rather hoping you had seen her.'

'Not this morning. I don't know what it is, it's hard to put into words,' she tried to explain, 'but it feels...it feels'

'Empty?' suggested Miss Cackle rising from her chair, 'as if something is missing? I can feel it too.'

'And me,' Miss Bat piped up.

'We don't even know if anything is wrong,' Miss Drill reasoned, trying to calm the situation, 'we haven't even looked for her.'

'I know, Imogen, but witches in particular have heightened sensitivity to magical disturbance; even having lived amongst witches you can just about feel it too,' informed the headmistress.

'What does that mean?' whispered Davina, anxious for an answer she knew that she was not going to like.

'It means that I think she should find Constance.'

Words left unsaid passed between the women in their gazes. It was dashes of panic and unease, fears that no-one wanted to express; they didn't need to. Each knew what the others were thinking and how they wanted selfishly to find the elusive deputy to calm their frantic nerves.

Xxx

Amelia walked swiftly to the potions laboratory, the brisk pace she kept fuelled by the adrenalin pumping through her veins. It was clear to her now that she had come to the realisation; that empty feeling caused by Constance's absence was caused by magic, a spell so powerful it had awakened the sensitivity of the witches living within the castle.

As she opened the door, despite herself, she uttered a prayer to nobody in particular. All Miss Cackle wanted was to see Constance sitting at her desk with a quizzical look on her face at why her privacy had been invaded so abruptly; but her heart sank as her eyes scanned the vacant room. She had known, deep down, that she would not find anyone in the room, yet still it was a blow to her usually enthusiastic spirits.

She paused for a moment, looking morosely at the polished wooden desks and the small, pewter cauldrons ready to be lit and allowed her mind to wander, a maze where each of her worries tangled to become one path riddled with fear and suspicion.

Imogen jogged towards her, breathing heavily.

'She's not in the dungeons,' she breathed. Miss Bat skipped along behind her, as though she was ignorant to the rest of the world.

'And she is not in the courtyard either.' Somehow, her concerned voice still carried a merry trill and Miss Cackle wondered if anything could truly dampen her irrepressible enthusiasm.

'Then we shall have to go to her room.' Imogen and Davina looked at each other at once. Constance had made it very clear on the day of her arrival that no-one was to enter her room without her personal permission, a luxury which had never been granted and Amelia had never assumed would be.

Walking to the staff living quarters determinedly, the headmistress forced her mind to focus. She banished the stray thoughts which dared to suggest what magic had been at work in the castle to cause such a disturbance. Had she not been fraught with the anticipation of breaking one of the many rules Constance instilled about her privacy, she might had paid more attention to the growing feeling of powerful magic looming in the air.

The door was of a dark mahogany, the name of the deputy headmistress written on a metal plate; a warning which needed no accompanying message.

'Should we be doing this?' asked Miss Bat nervously. She appeared more fragile than ever before and Amelia could almost see her mind working, wondering whether she should run back to the comfort of her cupboard.

'Yes,' assured Amelia assertively yet kindly, 'Constance will understand our reasoning; we are within out rights.' She raised her hands ready to cast, trying to sense which enchantments had been placed upon the door to conceal and confine the room's contents.

It took her several minutes to work out which countering spells to use on the door, which had been skilfully defended against intruders. Only when she was sure that she would not set off the alarm system did Amelia cast the final reversal spell and hear the lock click open. She took the cold, brass doorknob in her hand and hesitated for only a moment before deciding indefinitely to enter.

Constance's room was swathed in darkness, shadows concealing what Amelia knew she should never have laid eyes on. The furniture was simple, a desk and chair covered in neat pile of paperwork and marking, a small thin wooden wardrobe and a large bookcase which covered most of the left wall; she had been right, there were no personal items anywhere.

In other circumstances she would have reflected on the room further. It explained a great deal of things about Constance Hardbroom, emphasising her need for control and order in her life without the unnecessary hindrance of personal matters. However, as Amelia's eyes locked on the bed at the far end of the room, there was precious little time for her to ponder the deeper meaning to Constance's few possessions.

'Constance?' she called quietly to her deputy, daring to move further into the room. She was laid out on her bed, on top of the duvet with her hands neatly by her sides and her dark hair billowing across her shoulders. She looked serene, at peace with the rest of the world and, Amelia chanced to think, beautiful in the dim light of morning cascading through a crack between the shutters of her window.

But something was wrong. As Miss Cackle moved closer, her eyes adjusted to the light and she began to fully realise the sickening gravity of the situation, taking a short sharp gasp and clapping a hand to her startled mouth.

Constance's emotionless face was deathly pale. Her pallor was not simply colourless, but as completely white as the purest snow on a winter's morning before it had been disturbed. Her eyes were closed, her body unmoving and were it not for the very slight rise and fall of her chest Amelia would have feared her dead.

'What is it Miss Cack... oh my God,' Imogen exclaimed as she too moved to see the potions mistress in full view. She heard Miss Bat squeak behind her, a signal in itself of pure distress. Amelia moved her trembling hand, resting the back of it on Constance's forehead, though she quickly withdrew it.

'She...she's so impossibly c-cold,' stuttered Miss Cackle. Her skin had been like ice to touch, freezing to the point of pain.

Amelia took the limp and lifeless arm of her deputy in her hands and felt almost frantically for a pulse. As she felt a gentle beating against her fingers, she sighed with a relief which was short lived. The rhythm was slow and irregular, weak as her heart fought against the coldness captivating her body.

'Wh-what do we do?' Miss Cackle asked. She had no idea how to act, how to save Constance as she lay defenceless before her. She could feel the remnants of a spell in the air, the gentle hum of magic long delivered yet not quite dispersed.

'I don't know,' replied Imogen, barely able to form the words which caught in her throat. Everything she had ever learnt about first aid vanished from her mind and she was left, blank and useless and unable to help.

'We have to wake her up.' The small voice was little more than a whisper coming from the corner of the room. Amelia turned to see Davina, crouched in her own protective bubble and clearly distressed with tears streaming silently down her cheeks. Her heart went out to her, the witch with a sensitive disposition forced to face such a terrible image; but she was right, they had to try and wake her up.

'Constance? Constance, can you hear me?' Imogen tried, moving to the other side of her colleague's bed. She offered no response, not even a flicker of her eyelids as she lay in silence.

'Constance you have to wake up,' said Amelia, tears brimming in her eyes at the sight of her closest friend in such a harrowing condition. Imogen turned to her and shook her head.

'I...I don't...' Amelia faltered. The water flowed from her eyes and the droplets fell to the ground with the rain outside, mourning a life not yet lost. She knelt down and brushed a strand of ebony hair from her deputy's face, almost envying the peace instilled in her expression.

A thought came to her, one so simple yet quite possible an answer. Miss Cackle stood and raised her casting fingers and uttered a few words. Sparks shot from her fingertips, bolts of the brightest electric blue, which she aimed at Constance's hand; Amelia could have sworn she saw her fingers twitch. Suddenly, all of her senses were alive. She was working on adrenalin, blood rushing to her head to feed her brain which was working in overdrive to try and remember the correct incantation.

She had to try again. Pronouncing the words louder and clearer, with the passion of a woman with nothing left to lose, Amelia shot more harmless sparks at Constance but this time aimed them at her chest; at her heart. The reaction was instant. She gasped, forcing air into her lungs and her body to jerk as her muscles came to life. Her eyes remained closed, but her hands grasped the sheets and her face became distorted as though Constance was in terrible pain.

Amelia backed away slowly, one million thoughts running through her mind at once. Her hands were covering her mouth and tears stung her eyes as she watched her deputy engage in a tumultuous fight with her body, writhing and moaning in obvious agony and distress. Imogen placed a hand on her shoulder comfortingly as she restrained herself from running to help Constance, as she knew it would only cause her further upset; though even she could not stop the pain of watching her suffer betraying itself by the tears which fell. Davina simply buried her head in her hands, trying to block out the rest of the world.

Then, all of a sudden, Constance fell still and silent once more. She opened her eyes, blinking away the haze of a deep and troubled sleep and trying to sit up, finding that her entire body was consumed by a strong aching sensation. She was aware of the other presences in the room, more self conscious after being found in her night clothes than concerned for her own wellbeing.

'Wh-what on Earth...' she asked, her voice slightly weakened but still stern and angry at the intrusion. Amelia moved forward, fiercely wiping the moisture from her cheeks and trying to stop the smile of pure relief from spreading across her face. Imogen went to comfort Miss Bat who was now wildly sobbing in the corner, mostly through confusion.

'We couldn't find you this morning, so we came to your room. You were asleep, but so cold that I thought something had to be wrong; I only just managed to wake you up,' explained Miss Cackle, struggling to keep her composure.

As Constance moved into sitting position, pulling her dressing gown tightly around her shoulders and avoiding the headmistress' gaze, Amelia felt the strong urge to embrace her deputy; she knew exactly what her reaction would be, however, and decided against it.

'Are you sure you're alright Constance? Perhaps you should go back-'

'I am perfectly fine Amelia,' interrupted Constance, any hint of the state she had been in moments before banished from her tone, 'I...simply overslept.' The last word was like a dagger to her heart. She would never be so incompetent as to sleep in on a morning, not even if she had not slept in weeks. Constance could not honestly explain what had happened to her, but she was not about to let it compromise her daily routine any further.

'Now if you will excuse me, I have to get dressed.' She felt extremely uncomfortable with other people in her room and made a note to enhance the strength of the enchantments on her door.

'But Constance,' pleaded Amelia, 'you really don't look well.' It was true. Although her face had regained some of its usual colour, Constance still looked pale and her eyes were tired, as if her body had been drained of its energy.

'Well I have just woken up Amelia what do you expect!' snapped Constance. 'Now will you please leave my room?' The use of that word, such a small and simple word, told Miss Cackle more than anything else. Constance never said please; it wasn't in her nature and Amelia never came to expect it. It was a subtle message, telling the headmistress that she needed to be alone for a moment and Amelia knew that she had a moral obligation to oblige.

Reluctantly, they left the room and Amelia closed the door behind her, leaving Constance alone. For a moment, she rested her head in her hands. She could feel the lingering magic and it put her on edge; she would never have let on to Miss Cackle that she knew something was wrong, especially when it concerned her own wellbeing. Almost at once, she snapped back into her usual infallible demeanour. The world could not stop simply for her. Rising to her feet, shakily at first though regaining control, she looked at the clock and had to suppress her anger and frustration; her first lesson began in less than one minute. Hoping that the Foster's effect was not about to rear its ugly head, she closed her eyes and channelled her magic.

Within the blink of an eye, she was dressed in a long black velvet dress with her keys jangling around her waist. Her hair had been scraped tightly back into its usual plaited bun and, glancing quickly in the mirror mounted on her wall, Constance became once more the strict and impersonal potions mistress that everyone knew her to be. Folding her arms, she transported herself back into her classroom in time for the first few girls entering the laboratory to jump at her presence.

As she began to teach, her own worries were banished for the sake of the girls; she had to be strong. No-one could ever know, ever suspect that anything was wrong. The great and infamous Constance Hardbroom had always been a veil, a darkened shroud to cover and hide what lay beneath. Over the years it had become who she was and how people saw her; though now more than ever, that shroud concealed darkness and mystery, impossible things that even Constance was not yet aware of herself.

Though soon enough, she would be.

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><p><strong>Hope you enjoyed it. Coming up, the effects of the mysterious spell...<strong>

**Longest chapter yet, 3900 words... review? XD**


	9. Chapter 9

**Tiny note to thank reviewers :) And to say that the next chapter will be up very shortly as this was going to be twice as long but I decided to separate them as it made more sense :) Enjoy..**

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><p><strong>Chapter 9<strong>

There were only so many times Miss Cackle could ask the same question. The answer was the same, word for word, every time; stern and angry yet with solid conviction, the words 'I am fine' had become a morning greeting for Constance. Amelia vowed to herself that she would keep on asking until she got the truth, though she feared that it would never be divulged.

The last memories of summer had long since faded, consumed by the amber glow of autumn and at night the darkness moved earlier each day to yield its power over the castle. Weeks went by, half term came and went and before Amelia realised it, November had arrived.

Every day she watched her, carrying on as though nothing had happened and feigning the very convincing facade of normality. To the untrained eye, Constance was perfectly alright; Miss Cackle herself would probably not have recognised it had she not been keeping a more watchful eye on her deputy. Miss Bat and Miss Drill had stopped inquiring, their patience running out after the icy glare of the potions mistress had threatened their lives.

Miss Cackle, however, had been gifted with almost irritating patience. She could wait, for days or weeks, if she knew that her cause was just; though any hopes she had held of discovering why Constance was looking so pale and drawn seemed to have been wishful thinking.

'She won't talk to you, you know,' said Miss Drill gently one morning. Amelia had once again asked Constance whether she was alright, trying to plead her case but failing as her deputy vanished angrily before her.

'I know,' sighed Amelia, a weak smile radiating the everlasting kindness in her heart, 'but what sort of person would I be if I didn't try?'

It had been weeks since the headmistress had discovered Constance lying cold and alone in her bedchamber, on the brink of what she dared not even imagine. It was not difficult to see that whatever had happened had affected Constance more than she would ever let on. She had become increasingly withdrawn, eluding her colleagues unless it was a matter of importance regarding the school and spending much of her time confined to her room or the dungeons.

Often, she could not even allow her eyes to meet with Amelia's, in fear of giving the slightest hint of her secrets away. She was not simply pale; Miss Cackle knew it ran far deeper. She could not see the full extent of the life the younger woman concealed from prying eyes, though she could notice the wide awake potion she slipped more often than not into her morning tea. Amelia could realise that the stocks of ingredients to make a pain relieving potion had been depleting slowly and it only fed the concerns welling up in her chest, threatening to break free.

Xxx

'Settle down girls,' Constance sighed tiresomely. No matter how many times she asked, the third years would never truly accept the need for silence in a potions lesson. She sat at her desk and took a deep breath before shooting a warning look at her students.

'In preparation for next week's assessment, you may use this time to practise preparing one of the potions we have covered in the past few weeks. I will mark them to give you a rough estimation of the grade you would expect to receive, though you may use your books.'

Mildred sighed with relief and took her potions book from her bag, turning the pages to remind herself of which potions she needed to go over. Lighting a roaring fire beneath the cauldron on the bench, she began to chop roots as accurately as she could; this was one potion she could not get wrong.

Constance watched the girls begin to make their chosen mixtures, making sure that they were all working before she waved her hand causing a book to appear before her. Despite the potions she tried to conceal in her morning beverages, she found that she was tired and her head ached with the dull persistence of a migraine which had been plaguing her for days.

It took Constance a few minutes to realise that she had read the first line of the first page over and over again, the words refusing to sink in and relinquish their meaning to her. She tried to focus but the letters appeared to her like hieroglyphs, dancing across the page and mocking her. Constance tried to control her anger, though all she wanted to do was slam the book down on the desk and scream in frustration.

She was battling to conceal her predicament from the girls, but she feared that details were bleeding through cracks which had appeared in her usually unbreakable exterior. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to ignore the churning feeling in the pit of her stomach which caused nausea to overwhelm her senses. Constance felt for a moment as though she was going to faint, the world becoming distant as her head became light and hazy. Pulling herself back, she forced her body to dispel its frailties and tried to busy herself with work until she could retire to the confines of her room.

'I've never seen you concentrate so hard Millie!' exclaimed Enid who was lazily stirring her potion.

Mildred stifled a laugh.

'Well I can't afford to get this wrong! Not after my recent spate of disasters.' Enid grimaced, remembering the most recent of Mildred's unfortunate incidences. They had been in chanting, standing at the back of the class miming dutifully along when Mildred had tried to amplify Maud's voice with a spell so that Miss Bat would pick her to do a solo in the upcoming concert. Unfortunately, Mildred had muddled her words and Maud had lost her voice for almost a week much to Miss Hardbroom's displeasure.

'You're doing fine Millie; it even looks like this one might work!' Mildred allowed a small smile to creep onto her face. She had checked and double checked every timing and every ingredient with meticulous precision, to the point where the details were ingrained in her memory; this was one disaster she was going to avert completely.

Mildred checked the clock mounted on the wall and left what she hoped would be a metamorphosis potion to simmer for precisely three minutes. Allowing her mind to relax for a moment, her eyes fell upon her teacher. It was no secret that Miss Hardbroom's mood had been unpredictable to say the least in recent weeks. Normally, you knew where you stood with her and if you were caught out of line you would be punished, but recently Mildred had noticed how she could turn at the slightest thing and no-one knew quite how to pre-empt her reactions.

She watched as Miss Hardbroom made her way around the classroom, checking over the potions each student was brewing and bluntly pointing out where failures had been made.

'Don't you think HB looks tired?' Mildred hissed to Enid who finished adding slow juice to her strength enhancing potion and looked up, evaluating their potions mistress from across the room.

'I see what you mean Mil, but HB never gets tired; I mean, she doesn't sleep true but she uses wide awake potion.'

'What, do you think it could be something else?' asked Mildred, suddenly worried for Miss Hardbroom's health. Looking at her now she could see how pale she was and how, every so often, her hand moved to the bench as though she was gripping on to it for support.

'I don't know. Anyway why would you care? She's never shown any interest in your wellbeing,' Enid pointed out bluntly.

'No, but I've never been ill before. She could be really unwell Enid,' replied Mildred, panic setting in despite the fact that they were only making assumptions.

'Calm down Mildred! HB is made of stern stuff; it's going to take more than a cold to knock her down,' Enid said reassuringly.

'Mildred Hubble, let's see what you have been doing.' Mildred's head jerked upwards as she saw Miss Hardbroom looming over her. She gulped and looked down at her mixture and trying to remember if she did everything right. Miss Hardbroom looked closely at it and Mildred could have sworn that she saw a flicker of approval in her eyes.

'For once, Mildred, you have avoided disaster and produced an acceptable potion; make sure to finish it properly,' Miss Hardbroom warned her gently. Mildred looked at her for a moment and as their eyes met, she caught a glimpse of pain set deep into the brown pools before her teacher's barrier came up once more.

'M-Miss Hardbroom?' Mildred asked, her voice shaking. She had to find the courage from somewhere deep within her soul to even begin to think about what she was about to do.

'Yes Mildred?' She looked down at her undone bootlaces for a moment before daring to ask.

'Are...are you alright, Miss?'

Constance felt her heart skip a beat. If even Mildred was picking up on something, what were the other girls thinking? Her mouth became a thin line, her cheeks flushing momentarily pink before the irrepressible anger rose within her. Thinking for a moment, she knew that she could not shout at Mildred, as much as she would have liked to; despite her incompetence and inquisitive nature, she had not meant to ask such a personal question to be spiteful.

'I do not know what you mean Mildred I am perfectly fine,' she said clearly, allowing a hint of the anger to seep into her words to warn the girl against asking again; she could see that Mildred understood.

As she began to move to Enid's potion, Miss Hardbroom heard Mildred shriek and Constance had to sigh. It had been too good to be true; Mildred had produced a decent potion for once, of course she was going to ruin her best efforts. She turned on her heel to see Mildred jump out of the way as her cauldron bubbled over, liquid coloured the deep inky blue of the night sky erupting from its hold and spilling across the bench, turning anything in its path into various small animals.

Flexing her casting fingers, Constance aimed a stream of bright gold sparks at the cauldron which ceased from bubbling and vanished the remaining potion in the blink of an eye. She looked furiously at Mildred, who had jumped onto her stool to escape the mixture's destructive path and appeared sincerely apologetic and terrified.

'MILDRED HUBBLE!' She roared, her patience finally snapping, 'what on Earth did you do!'

'I...I' Mildred faltered, her brain too shocked and scared to form the explanation.

'I let it simmer too long Miss,' whispered Mildred finally, hanging her head slightly in shame.

'Well you can go and explain your actions to Miss Cackle right now!' thundered Miss Hardbroom. Mildred did not need telling twice, jumping down from the stool and grabbing her bag as she ran from the room as fast as she could.

'She didn't mean to Miss!' piped up Enid. Although Mildred had managed to cause yet another calamity, no-one had been hurt and she felt that Miss Hardbroom had been unnecessarily harsh on her friend.

'I am perfectly aware of that Miss Nightshade now will you take your seats and finish what you started!' Constance stormed back to the front of the classroom, breathing deeply to try and calm herself. Nothing ever seemed to go right when Mildred Hubble was in the room.

Xxx

Miss Cackle had been sitting in her office doing paperwork when she heard a feeble knock at the door.

'Come in,' she called brightly. Seeing Mildred Hubble at the door was not an uncommon occurrence, though today she looked genuinely ashamed of herself.

'Ah, Mildred,' Amelia said kindly, 'take a seat.' Mildred sat on the chair in front of the headmistress' desk and stared down at her lap, fiddling absent-mindedly with her plaits.

'What happened?' Miss Cackle encouraged.

'I...I was making a potion and I let it simmer for too long. It went everywhere, but Miss Hardbroom managed to sort it out easily,' explained Mildred, the words falling fast from her mouth.

'I see,' pondered Amelia, 'why did she send you to me?' Mildred thought for a moment before answering. She did not want to seem like a small child complaining about being told off, but at the same time there was something she wanted to get off her chest.

'I don't know Miss, she just started shouting. I know I caused a mess, but that is not unusual for me. I...I think it might be because I asked her if she was alright.' Mildred added the last sentence in a hushed and reluctant tone. She knew that she was not fully aware of her potions mistress' situation, yet felt the need to voice her concerns. She was a caring person by nature, and even though she and Miss Hardbroom rarely saw eye to eye, it was natural for her to worry upon seeing someone so out of sorts; particularly someone as strong as the deputy headmistress.

'Why did you ask her that?' Amelia already knew the answer of course, but she needed to hear it from a pupil's perspective. If Constance was not fully able to disguise her vulnerability to her pupils then something was definitely wrong; she always felt the need to keep composed in front of students and never let her guard down around them even for a second.

'This morning, she...she just looked so...I don't know quite how to describe it,' Mildred confessed, bearing her emotions for the headmistress to see in full.

'She looked tired and unsteady, though she was hiding it well, and I asked her if she was alright. I shouldn't have done that, should I?' asked Mildred sheepishly.

'You were well within your rights, Mildred' assured Miss Cackle. 'To tell you the truth, many of us are concerned about Miss Hardbroom and she has not quite been herself lately.' This latest outburst was only part of the erratic and irritable behaviour Constance had been conveying over the past two weeks in particular. She found it harder to control her temper, her patience wearing thin fast and her threshold for incompetence lower than it had ever been.

'There is nothing for you to be concerned with Mildred, but I concede that you did not need to be sent to me. If you apologise to Miss Hardbroom for making a mess, then you can go.'

'I will Miss,' said Mildred. Was it true that even the headmistress suspected that something was wrong? A moment passed between the two before she left, a warning to Mildred that she should not discuss such a delicate and personal matter in earshot of Miss Hardbroom.

'I won't,' whispered Mildred as she closed the door.

Amelia watched Mildred go, wondering how it was that she was so easily able to detect when someone was feeling vulnerable. _She deserves more credit than she is given_, thought Miss Cackle. But what played on her mind for the rest of the day was that Constance was getting worse, fading before though still fighting the sympathy or aid of those around her.

_One day, it's going to be her downfall_ Amelia pondered. She simply hoped that it would not be any day soon.

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><p><strong>Hope you liked it :) Reviews all welcome<strong>


	10. Chapter 10

**Hello avid readers XD Have been struggling to write this chapter to its full potential for a while, but I hope I have done it some justice :) Thanks to all reviewers so far, it does make it worthwhile!**

**Enjoy the chapter, more to come soon!**

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><p><strong>Chapter 10<strong>

Winter crept up on the castle; a prowling lion crouching low amongst the trees in wait, until one morning the girls woke to see a thin blanket of perfect white embracing the once fertile landscape and a biting wind swirling through the bitterly cold hallways of the academy.

Miss Cackle looked out of her bedroom window and smiled warmly. She watched as the first years ran out into the courtyard, scraping desperately at the stone flagons to gather enough snow to throw playfully at their friends. The shrieks of their pure, untainted joy echoed across the rolling hills and although the trees shuddered, none of the girls seemed to feel the cold against their skin.

At any moment, Amelia expected to see Constance appear from nowhere with her booming voice sounding throughout the dormitories, as a warning to others and humiliation for the offending girls. It happened every year, a tradition in the first days of winter and although Miss Cackle did not have any issue with the girls playing in the snow, she knew that Constance had her reasons for disallowing it and permitted her to take charge on the matter.

But as the minutes past and the sun began to rise, a pale haze beneath a sea of cloud bobbing above the horizon like a cork on water, the girls continued to laugh in the snow. More joined them over time and Amelia waited for the deputy headmistress to appear; but she didn't.

Checking her watch, she felt uneasy as she read the time; the school bell was due to ring in a few moments and it was unheard of for Constance to allow the girls to participate in what she called 'careless acts of childish indulgence which only lead to cold and illness'.

She was on the verge of searching for her deputy herself when she saw Constance finally appear at the entrance. It was only when she felt the relief of the tall, lean black figure materialise before the main gates wash over her that Amelia realised how much she had sensed that something was wrong. Now, everything was as it should be and she braced herself, preparing for the fireworks which would follow.

Only they never came. The thundering tones of Constance Hardbroom would terrify the girls, particularly the fragile first years; but Amelia watched in awe as Constance quietly ushered the students inside in time for the bell and waved her hand to clear the courtyard of snow and ice. She retreated back into the castle without a word, her silence something Amelia had considered to be unprecedented not least in disciplinary situations.

Miss Cackle lingered at the window for a moment before walking to her first lesson of the day. There was something in what she had seen which did not sit right and she could feel it playing with her mind. Constance had always taken the same path where discipline was concerned; she made it clear in her blunt, brutal tone what was unacceptable and gave punishment as lines or detention as she saw fit.

In the many years she had known Constance, Amelia had never seen Constance let a child pass in the corridor that was not up to her exemplary standards, let alone allow a group of students to venture outside before morning lessons began. Rules and regulations were Constance's life; she abided by her own strict discipline and ensured that the students in her care followed the rules which they were expected to down to the letter. Her life was empowered by her decorum, with everything from her faultless magic to her plain black dresses and her scraped back hair perfect and orderly. In a life where what some would perceive as guidelines were sacred law, any disregard for such rules was a call; a cry for help, or a warning to those who knew her best that something was very wrong.

Xxx

The morning's incident had played on Miss Cackle's mind all day, drawing her focus from the classes she taught and the paperwork she had written to the subject of her deputy. She walked into the staffroom as the bell rang for lunch and muttered a few words at the fireplace which instantly ignited, the majestic flames radiating much needed heat into the icy room. Amelia was restless, choosing to pace rather than to sit as her mind worked in overdrive. She had to pick the right moment to bring up such a delicate subject, one which Constance would never appreciate the need to address and would fight until the bitter end.

At half past twelve, Miss Bat erupted from the cupboard. Amelia was startled at first to learn that the chanting teacher had been present the entire time, though she had come, over the years, to not to take Davina overly seriously.

'Afternoon Miss Cackle,' she said brightly. As always, there was a spring in her step and she hummed tunefully to herself as she made her way to one of the armchairs by the now roaring fire.

Miss Drill entered moments later, having finished her time observing the girls taking lunch in the dungeons.

'Tea, Imogen?' asked Davina as she moved to pour steaming water into a mug of what appeared to be shrivelled weeds.

'Yes please Davina. Have you seen Constance?'

'She was in the potions lab the last time I saw her,' replied Miss Bat, 'though she was going down to the dungeons after you left. She shouldn't be long.' Imogen sat on the long dining table, resting her feet on one of the chairs casually. She looked at the headmistress.

'Do you...think she looks alright, Miss Cackle?' Miss Drill asked tentatively; they all knew that these were dangerous waters to tread.

'No Imogen, I do not,' Amelia began.

She was interrupted by the abrupt opening of the staffroom door as Constance strode in. Every time she walked into a room, her presence was felt immediately. The aura she emitted was strong and confident, her power portrayed even in the way she moved; Amelia wondered whether the others could see it too. It could have been a lack of conviction, or perhaps a slight tilt in her otherwise inflexible posture; whatever it was, although as ever she made her presence known to the other members of staff, she also incoherently amplified whatever problem she was suffering.

Amelia looked at Imogen, as though asking for guidance. Miss Drill was an extremely pro-active person; she refused to stand by whilst things happened which were beyond her control. In this case, however, she was unsure. Her eyes only told the headmistress, as softly and supportively as possible, that she did not know what to do.

As a relatively new member of staff, she only knew Constance to the extent of the conversation they had shared; these had been few and far between. Their conflicting personalities clashed, and all that Imogen had seen of the deputy headmistress was a fiery temper and a need for control. Thinking all too vividly of the possible reactions Constance could have to various methods of approaching her questionable health, Imogen had to relinquish control of the situation to the higher authority and the person who had known Constance the longest.

The pregnant pause which hung in the air a little too long was shattered, to the great relief of many, by a knock at the door. Miss Cackle answered it and allowed a deceitful smile to spread across her face.

'Ah, Mrs Tapioca,' she said warmly, 'thank you for bringing all of this.' The tray which lay out before them was the same as every Wednesday. There was a variation of foods to acquaint the differing diets of the staff members, with a bowl of fruit for Imogen and a vase of tulips for the eccentric chanting teacher. Imogen jumped off the table and took her usual seat, realising how hungry she was as she helped to lay out the food. Miss Cackle conjured a blue striped tablecloth and cutlery, which laid themselves out of their own accord.

Constance had forgotten that it was midweek once again. Every Wednesday the staff took lunch together in the staffroom, a trivial tradition in Constance's view which had little practical use. She sat at the end, a seat which lay slightly further away from the others as was her custom, and summoned the book she had been reading previously from her desk. She found her mind distracted by the incessant chatter of her colleagues and struggled to force her mind to focus.

Giving up, at least for the time being, on the book Constance looked briefly at the food ornamenting the table. Although she was aware that she had not eaten all day, her stomach churned at the thought of food and she simply sat sipping water as the other teachers ate and talked.

Miss Cackle knew that Constance thought she hadn't noticed. Constance never ate very much, though she had never seen her not eat anything at all. The way she sipped her water, barely taking in any of the pure transparent liquid, told her that she was simply using it an excuse to be at the table at all and not raise suspicions.

'Are you not eating anything Constance?' It had been Miss Bat who had finally asked the question burning in the air, though she appeared not to register its significance.

'No, Davina, I am not.' Constance replied curtly; she was not about to justify her eating habits.

'Const- Imogen started hopelessly.

'No,' interjected Constance sternly, 'there is to be no questioning of my health or my habits, Miss Drill, I am simply not hungry. Let that be the end of the matter.' Imogen looked away, avoiding confrontation by becoming suddenly interested in her spaghetti.

Constance looked once more at the food, wondering if she should eat something just to satisfy her colleagues. It had become increasingly easier of late to do what people expected of her and not to draw attention to herself, something which she had never been fond of.

Her gaze lingered over a pasta salad for a moment longer than the rest of the food. She felt dizziness envelop her mind, an uncontrollable sensation which made her head feel heavy on her fragile neck. Nausea rose in her throat, threatening the stoic composure she fought so hard to keep and everything seemed to ache to the point of pain. Constance closed her eyes and gripped the table lightly, hoping that it would pass. She could feel the burning looks from her colleagues and tried to open her eyes, though a bolt of pain shot through her head at the mere thought.

It caught her attention at once. Amelia looked across at her deputy and saw that all of the colour had drained from her face, which was now the soft and chilling colour of a corpse. Her chest rose and fell in short bursts and Miss Cackle could see her grip on the table, firm yet hidden, and felt powerless, unable to help her.

Constance opened her eyes and knew at once that the feelings were not going to pass. She excused herself and stood up, though her legs momentarily gave way and she fell backwards, caught at the elbow by the swift and agile Miss Bat. Jerking her arm away in disgust at her own humiliation, Constance folded her arms and disappeared, reappearing in her room where she promptly staggered to the bathroom.

'You'll have to talk to her,' said Imogen to Miss Cackle. She simply nodded sorrowfully,

'I know. She can't go on like this.'

Xxx

Materialising in the potions laboratory, Constance began to mix a swift sickness remedy to remove the vile taste from her mouth. Even now, she felt light headed and the fumes from the bubbling concoction were beginning to become overpowering. She ladled a spoonful of the dark mixture into a vile and set it aside to cool.

'I thought that I might find you in here.' Constance spun around to see Miss Cackle hovering at the doorway, her face too kind and painfully pitiful for Constance's liking.

'Headmistress, I really don't think this is necessary,' she tried, hoping to avoid the inevitable confrontation.

'You can't go on like this Constance. What's wrong?'

'I...don't know what you mean,' said Constance evasively, her eyes not able to meet Amelia's as she pretended to wipe the bench clean.

'You know perfectly well that something is wrong! The girls can see it, let alone Davina and Imogen; something is wrong and I have a right as your headmistress...' Amelia dared to move forward a step, knowing that she was impeding on Constance's territory, '...as your friend. Please.'

Constance took the vile from the windowsill, and drank it down in one, fighting not to flinch against the vile taste. She looked at the headmistress, for once allowing a flash of vulnerability to appear in her usually indecisive eyes.

'I...I honestly don't know, Amelia,' she said finally, 'and that worries even me.' With that one definitive act of honesty, Constance folded her arms and vanished, leaving Amelia wondering whether she would ever be able to ask what she needed of those around her.

Xxx

That evening, Constance sat once more at the desk in her room staring at the envelope given to her a month before. She had not opened it, the curiosity never presenting itself in her disciplined mind; though she would be lying if she said she had not considered what could lie within its contents. Whatever it was, Mistress Broomhead was behind it and would not rest until it was complete. The thought sent a shiver down her spine. She alone knew what that woman was truly capable of, the extent of her power and influence reaching far and wide though her alliances were made mostly through fear. She had become tangled in Hecketty's web of deceit and cruelty from a young age, and it seemed far from likely that she would escape from its clutches at any time soon.

Morgana, Constance's sleek black cat, wound its way reassuringly around her mistress' legs. She could always tell, as witches cats could, when their owners were worried or stressed. She purred, the low rumbling sound a comfort that everything would be alright.

She picked up the envelope; the paper felt warm beneath her fingers and she turned it over, examining the seal as she debated whether to release its contents. Night fell swiftly, the darkness taking hold outside as she sat in wait for her mind to decide on a course of action. The Earth seemed silent, as though lying in wait to hear her decision, and not even a gentle breeze could carry a whisper through the night to break the calm.

Her fingers slid easily to break the envelope's seal and she took a single piece of stained brown paper from the packaging, a page removed from an ancient text which bore the words of a spell.

_Mater virtus, viribus demat_

_Pariet parvalus,in fortitudo et gaudium_

_Et erit mihi_

The words were familiar, as though she had heard them before and she recalled that evening, the night of her birthday, with the words ringing in her ears as she slipped into an endless sleep. Staring at the letters, she searched for a meaning. It hit her faster than the bullet of a hunter's gun, the shock resonating throughout her body as fast as the icy chill which coursed through her veins and pumped in her thumping heart. She knew what the forbidden words meant, what they did, and she suppressed the urge to scream. It couldn't be so. No-one would do that to her, not even Hecketty. There was no reason, no motive and no morality in such a senseless act.

She needed to know. Standing and folding her arms, she appeared in the potions laboratory and began to fix the potion which would tell her the final answer. Constance barely took note of what she was doing, adding ingredients almost subconsciously to a simmering cauldron whilst her mind was bombarded with a thousand thoughts, sounds and feelings she had not known she was capable of. For so long her demeanour had been unbreakable; now, it was falling apart.

Constance stared at the beaker of bright electric blue liquid before her and she could feel her heart beating hard against her ribs, egging her on. Taking one of the pins from her hair, she pricked her finger and allowed a single scarlet droplet of blood to fall into the mixture, rings reaching out to the where the liquid met solid glass before they vanished.

She waited, an agonising wait, though as the potion slowly changed in colour she knew what had happened to her. The blue pigment disappeared, the mixture turning slowly transparent as her eyes widened in horror and her heart sank to the pit of her stomach. No. It could not be true, it was not true.

Picking up the beaker, in a moment of emotion and rage, she flung the glass across the room where it shattered into one million glistening diamonds and the liquid fell pathetically to the floor. Constance breathed deeply, trying to get her head around her discovery. As she collapsed into the chair at her desk, her sorry head fell into her hands and she silently allowed the first tears of thirty years to fall into her lap.

Xxx

Back in Constance's room, the writing on the torn page glowed a blinding white before the letters began to shift and change. Another message was being written from the remnants of the spell which had ruined a life. This was only the beginning. Somewhere far in the distance, miles away from Cackle's Academy, Hecketty Broomhead laughed. It was the sound of malice, of pure evil as she delighted in her plan beginning to unfold...

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><p><strong>OK so when I said all would be revealed...thought I'd leave you guessing for a while! XD Hope you liked it, would love a review!<strong>

**x**


	11. Chapter 11

**Sorry for a bit of a wait, this chapter was a bit of a nightmare to write and I rewrote it twice :) Quite a big chapter as you will see, though it is not as simple as it seems (when is it ever!)**

**Enjoy the chapter, thanks to all reviewers so far and I really welcome your opinions!**

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><p><strong>Chapter 11<strong>

The night was endless. It seemed as though time had stopped, everything resting still and silent in respect as Constance's life began to shatter into uncountable pieces around her. The wind dared to rustle the few leaves left hanging desperately onto the winter trees, a whisper in the night which lasted a thousand days.

Holding her head in her hands Constance felt the warm tears stroking her cheek in goodbye as they fell silently to the ground below. It had been so long since she had felt such impossible emotion; rage coursed through her veins at the injustice of it all, whilst confusion enveloped her thoughts in a haze of smoke. Everything she felt, however, was dulled by the sadness which seemed to take control of her body. It was something she never thought that she would have to face, and despite hating her mind for doing so, she pitied herself. Fallen from grace, she could feel the stony depths of rock bottom as a darkness from within her soul began to drown her, pulling her down to a place she hadn't been since she was a young girl alone and crying in her room.

Constance lifted her heavy head slowly and looked at the mess spreading slowly across the laboratory floor. Walking over to the puddle of liquid speckled with glistening shards of broken glass, she wiped her eyes furiously, as though angry with herself for such a betrayal of emotion. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment; even alone, she never felt comfortable letting down her constant guard and now was no exception.

She bent down, picking up the larger fragments of glass and collecting them in her open palm. The distraction was a relief, an escape even from such a menial task to a place in her mind where she did not need to worry about anything more than laborious and superficial duties; for a moment she even managed to forget, before the memories hit like a wave crashing violently against a rock face and realisation took its hold once more.

Relenting, Constance used her magic to clean the mess and conjured a plain white handkerchief to wrap around her hand. She returned to her chair, sitting calmly at the table with her elbows against the desk and her hands locked solidly together. She refused to cry anymore; strength and power were her strongest assets and she intended to use them.

The thought of being pitied made her feel ashamed, the idea of sympathy a poison to her nature. She never asked for help, she never appeared anything but composed and she would not relent until she reached a point where there was nothing left for her to protect, when all hope was lost.

Her head began to pound and she had to rest it against her knuckles, which had turned white from the vigour with which her hands were clasped in each other. She knew at that moment that nothing would ever be the same again, and a whisper in the back of her mind, masked even to her by the rustling of the wind against the last flora of autumn, tried to tell her something else: she was in danger.

Xxx

Mildred sat up abruptly in her bed. She knew at once that a noise had woken her, something brief yet loud which had cut her dreamless slumber short. She stepped gingerly out of bed, tying her wayward hair into two quick plaits which hung lazily at either side of her head. Mildred listened carefully, trying to hear anything else to arouse suspicion, though the whole castle was silent.

Although afraid of the dark, Mildred was mesmerised by the excitement of the castle at night. It was the way in which every move she made seemed to echo for the world to hear and the risk of being caught by Miss Hardbroom was a thrill she had not yet managed to duplicate. After many indecisive moments, Mildred decided to risk discovery and ventured quietly outside her bedroom.

Walking slowly through the darkness, Mildred bumped into another pupil daring to wander the corridors after hours. She gasped but bit her tongue to suppress a cry which she knew would bring the intimidating deputy headmistress to her, sending her straight back to bed with severe punishment.

'Mil?' Enid walked into the eerie light cast by the moon through one of the open windows to reveal herself to her friend.

'You almost scared me to death!' hissed Mildred, 'what are you doing?'

'The same thing that you are: looking for whatever caused that noise.'

'You heard it too?' Mildred asked.

'Yes,' admitted Enid, 'but I couldn't tell what it was.'

'Shall we wake the others?' whispered Mildred.

'No, there isn't time. It sounded like it came from the potions lab,' Mildred shuffled uncomfortably, avoiding the urge to look shamefully down at her cold, bare feet.

'If HB catches us...'

'Oh come on Mil,' scolded Enid, 'it's hardly like we've never been caught before.'

'But you know how she's been recently,' Mildred pointed out.

'It's worth the risk, come on!' Enid grabbed Mildred's arm and pulled her towards the stairs leading down to the rest of the castle. Mildred could not help the grin which spread across her face, lighting her eyes like beacons flashing in the darkness.

They crept down the winding stairs, resisting even the urge to whisper. Mildred followed Enid, checking compulsively over her shoulder every few minutes as though asking to be caught. She could feel a lingering sense of dread which wandered with them to the potions lab, the feeling that they were only biding time before Miss Hardbroom appeared and scolded them for being out of bed at an ungainly hour.

By the time they reached the main corridor, Mildred was beginning to think that their luck was too good to be true. They came close to the door which led to the laboratory and Mildred turned to Enid.

'Are you sure that we should be doing this?' she whispered uncertainly.

'Yes,' said Enid bluntly. She had expected Mildred's questioning indecision, but after three years she knew that she could get her way and that her friend secretly loved the adrenalin rush of adventure.

'We're here now, we might as well look.'

'Shall we look through the window first? I mean, we don't want to barge in,' pondered Mildred. Agreeing, the girls peeked tentatively around the doorframe to peer through the glass panel on the door to the laboratory.

Mildred could see Miss Hardbroom sitting at her desk. Checking the watch on her wrist, she saw that the time was after three in the morning and wondered why the deputy headmistress was sitting alone in the potions lab at such an hour. Looking closer, Mildred could see that she was deep in thought. Her head was resting on her knuckles as though she was in prayer and she did not move a muscle as time ticked slowly on.

'Is she alright?' whispered Mildred to Enid, who was craning her neck to get a better look.

'I don't know,' Enid confessed, 'but she doesn't really look it, does she?' Mildred nodded in agreement. She had noticed the changes over the past few weeks and even through the darkness she could see that something was wrong.

Constance did not notice the presences hovering outside the door; she had greater concerns plaguing her mind. Her hands twitched involuntarily and she could feel the pulse in her veins thumping hard against her skull.

Without warning, she began to feel suddenly worse, the pain in her head reaching a peak as it fogged her thoughts and spiked like needles in her temples. She made to stand up, but felt a pain in her abdomen so fierce that she had to stop, doubling over with a hand across her stomach as she fought to stay conscious. Her vision was blurred, the darkness which had once been confined to the shadows branching out and swallowing the room as her head became light.

'Wh-what's happening?' Mildred abandoned the quiet tone of voice as panic set in. She had seen her teacher rise and begin to struggle, hunched over in pain though she was still silent and reaching out to grasp the desk in front of her to keep her upright.

'I don't know,' confessed Enid, at a loss at what to do. She looked desperately at Mildred, someone who despite their insecurities always seemed to know what to do when danger reared its ugly head. Mildred knew what was being asked of her and wracked her brains to find a suitable solution.

'Right, you go and wake Miss Cackle; she won't mind, it's an emergency. I will go and see if Miss Hardbroom is alright.' There was not time for questions and Enid ran off, disappearing into the shadows.

Mildred took the doorknob in her hand, reluctant to enter at such an hour when Miss Hardbroom obviously thought that she was alone; but she knew that it would be immoral to leave her teacher there. It had become obvious over the past month, at least to her, that something had been wrong and it had culminated in this moment. With a surge of courage, she opened the door.

Constance could feel her presence in the room without opening her eyes, the uncertainty and fear the likes of which she knew all too well. Despite the agony radiating throughout her body, she forced herself to snap into her usual facade and opened her eyes as she straightened up, though her hand lingered subconsciously close to her abdomen.

'Mildred, what on Earth are you doing out of bed at this hour?' The sharpness of her tone was direct; she did not need a prolonged question and answer session with the most infuriating of pupils.

'I...I...I heard a noise Miss,' admitted Mildred, feeling as though she had recently drunk a powerful shrinking potion and was now standing ten inches tall at Miss Hardbroom's feet.

She looked up and saw the colour was still absent from her teacher's face and it was impossible for her to conceal the hint of pain flashing in her eyes.

'Are you alright, Miss?'

'That,' snapped Constance, 'is a question I have heard from you one too many times Mildred Hubble. There is nothing wrong with me other than the stress of your sheer incompetence and disregard for the rules!' Mildred looked away, ashamed but certain that her berating was a disguise, a ploy to avoid the question being asked.

'I suggest that you run along to your room and get some rest before I decide to keep you in for detention until you turn eighteen! I want 600 lines of _I will not aimlessly roam the corridors at night_ ready for before the weekend and if I catch you out of bed again I will not be so lenient!'

Mildred opened her mouth to reply, but at the wave of Miss Hardbroom's hand she was transported back to her bedroom. Tabby leapt gracefully onto the bed and began to purr comfortingly. Mildred sat beside her, stroking behind her ears and wondering whether the look in the animal's deep amber eyes was one of understanding.

Constance breathed a sigh of pure relief as Mildred disappeared before her. She could no longer rely on the laboratory as a place of solitude and scolded herself for not placing a silencing spell on the room. She found herself wondering how long she could keep this up before the girls guessed; they were young and naive, but far from lacking in intelligence. Her secrets would not be safe for long.

Xxx

Amelia could not pretend that she hadn't known that something like this was coming. She had seen Constance's behaviour escalate, her attempts to cover her true feelings becoming more transparent as the weeks went on. After the earlier conversation she had shared with her colleagues, the headmistress had sensed that it had only been a matter of time; and now, she was running along the corridors with a third year pupil, worried out of her mind as to what might have happened.

To see that Constance was standing in the potions laboratory was a blessing to Amelia. By the panic in Enid's tone she had feared the worst, yet although Constance seemed physically alright, Miss Cackle could see the ghostly pallor of her deputy and the glimpses of the woman behind the mask seemed to be crying out more than ever for a helping hand she would never accept.

'Constance, are you-'

'I am perfectly fine,' insisted Constance icily, turning to Enid. 'Enid, run along back to bed and consult Mildred bout your punishment for wandering the halls.' Enid did not need to be told twice, but caught Miss Cackle's eye as she left. A moment passed between them; she tried to tell the headmistress what she had seen before and warn her that all was not as it seemed.

An awkward silence hung in the air after Enid had returned to her room. Constance thought for a moment, aching for the relief of telling Amelia everything that was troubling her. How easy it would be for her secrets to spill out before her, sharing the increasing burden which pressed heavily against her tired shoulders; but she would never do such a thing. Having her life exposed for others to see, her heart beating vulnerably on her sleeve, was something she had sworn never to do.

After her father had given her to Mistress Broomhead, Constance had discovered that the best way to learn was to keep herself isolated from the wider community, wrestling her emotions into a box pushed forcefully to the back of her mind.

Her privacy was what made her who she was. She kept the truth about herself hidden; anything that you could not see was a mystery and she would never unlock that part of her...or so she had thought. At that moment, staring at the headmistress she reluctantly saw as a friend, Constance could feel the cold metal of the key which released the truth, her truth, forcing its way into the lock and she felt panic rise in her throat.

'Constance,' started Amelia gently, edging closer to Constance, 'we need to talk about this.' The headmistress could almost feel the icy barrier of her deputy's defence system snap into action.

'I do not think that there is anything for us to discuss,' replied Constance abruptly, the calculated clinical aspect to her tone so clearly false.

'Please Constance,' pleaded Amelia, unable to mask her concern, 'there is something wrong, everyone can see it; even the girls-'

'I will not adhere to such nonsense,' Constance interrupted starkly, 'now it is late Amelia and I need to return to my room.' Without waiting for a response, Constance folded her arms and vanished before Amelia's eyes, leaving her alone with her mouth gaping open, the echo of a plea that never formed into words.

Constance appeared in her room and stumbled back until she collided abruptly with the wall. Sliding down until she was sitting with her knees close to her chest, she felt the irrepressible surge of tears overcome her once more.

Xxx

The cruel mistress of sleep evaded Constance for days. Every time her head touched the pillow, she was revisited by more memories breaking free from the deep cavern of her mind. She saw herself as a child, no more than five years old, standing in front of a plain white door. Constance could sense everything with vivid detail, as though she was reliving it step by step. She could imagine the feel of the cool metallic doorknob between her fingers, though no matter how many times she tried she could not allow herself to enter the room. Every time she felt the firm, painful grasp of a hand on her shoulder and the forceful pull of her father as she was taken to her room and locked there screaming until she learned to be silent.

Miss Cackle knew what Constance was doing; the deputy headmistress had not allowed them to be alone since that night in the potions laboratory. She knew that Amelia would show discretion, proved by the fact that she did not share what she had learned with the Imogen or Davina. As the weekend came and went, Amelia became frustrated at Constance's evasiveness. She could tell that the younger woman was not sleeping, or eating for that matter, and she seemed in a matter of days to become more of a shadow slipping across rooms unnoticed.

The thing Amelia could not for the life of her understand, was how she carried on her facade of normality in front of the girls. She had watched her through the door during lessons, lingering before going in to ask for a pupil to watch Constance and to see if she was alright. In the classroom, it was impossible to see any fault in her impenetrable exterior and the pupils continued to fear and respect her as they always had; it was the glimpses Amelia caught of her in the staffroom, away from the majority of prying eyes, when she closed her eyes and sighed deeply, as though trying to breath away the problems ruining her life behind closed doors.

Walking into the staffroom, Amelia was surprised to see Constance preparing a cup of tea alone and seized the opportunity.

'You can't avoid me forever.' Constance jumped slightly, emphasising her fragility. She turned to face the headmistress but hadn't even the energy to muster an excuse; she simply folded her arms and made to leave.

But Miss Cackle had expected as much. She ran over, reaching out and catching the cuff of Constance's black silk dress just as she disappeared.

Amelia let go, dazed and confused, to find that they were in her own office. Constance appeared disgruntled and slightly shaken, the power needed to transport an extra passenger without warning drawing some of the breath from her lungs. Constance walked calmly over to the chair across from the headmistress' desk and grasped it hard for support, catching her breath.

'This has gone on long enough,' ordered Amelia. 'You haven't been yourself for weeks, ever since...' For a moment, she caught Constance's eye and the look which lay within them told her all that she needed to know.

'Ever since your birthday, since Mistress Broomhead visited.' Amelia thought for a moment before continuing.

'What did she do to you?' It was a bold question, one that she had not expected an answer from; but Constance was too tired to argue. It took everything she had to continue as normal during lessons, despite the fact that she had not slept in more than a week and had eaten only on a few occasions in that time. The fight seemed to cost her more than the value of what it protected and as she had so little left, she thought of relenting.

'I...I can't tell you Amelia,' whispered Constance, 'please don't make me.' Amelia could sense that the truth waiting to be uncovered was dark, swathed in mystery and tragedy and something which had taken her deputy's life and turned it upside down.

'I'm sorry,' said Miss Cackle genuinely, 'but I can't allow you to go on like this.' Constance looked up at the headmistress. It was now, it had to be. The floodgates opened, the lock finally breaking and falling into an abyss; for the first time in thirty five years, her resolve broke.

'It's impossible,' she began weakly.

'What do you mean?' asked Amelia kindly. Constance sighed. She didn't know if she could bring herself to say it out loud, the mere thought a tainted spot of colour on her otherwise simple life.

'It was banned, hundreds of years ago. It had been designed to...to help young women, but many used it for dark and deceitful purposes. A copy of this enchantment was given to me by Mistress Broomhead, though I only opened it recently.' Constance looked away, trying to avoid the emotional pain threatening her already crumbling composure.

Miss Cackle nodded slowly. She knew that she had to press on, though feared by looking into Constance's eyes that it might break her.

'So...what does it do, this enchantment?'

'Nobody knows; well, nobody knew. It was lost a long time ago after it was banned. With the words of the spell, I could translate some of the Latin and I tested to see if what I suspected was true...now I know what it does,' explained Constance, the words choking her slightly as she forced them out.

'It can't be possible, it just can't,' stated Constance, her tone that of a child denying what they knew to be true. Tears were brimming in her eyes, threatening to fall, and Amelia saw through them the pain in her soul.

'It defies everything, every rule of the Witch's Code and every fibre of morality in any human being. It can't be true, it just...' She turned away once more, fighting to keep from breaking down. Amelia walked slowly towards her and put one hand on her deputy's arm, using the other to gently turn Constance's head back towards her own.

'You can tell me; everything will be alright I promise.' A weak smile passed across Constance's face, though it was not one of relief or happiness. It was the gesture of sadness that told Amelia that her optimism was pointless and that all hope was lost.

'Don't make a promise that it is impossible to keep,' said Constance wisely.

'Then tell me why,' reasoned Amelia. Constance sighed; the headmistress needed to know. The tears fell, cascading down her cheeks in perfect lines and glistening in the light, like the reflection of the sun on water.

'Because, Amelia,' she said resignedly, her bottom lip softly trembling 'I am pregnant.'

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><p><strong>Lol well done NCD :) <strong>


	12. Chapter 12

***Waves brightly to avid readers* **

**This has been a pretty difficult chapter to write, particularly the last half as you will see for obvious reasons, but I hope it turned out alright! Thanks so much to those who have reviewed so far and there will be more to come soon!**

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><p><strong>Chapter 12<strong>

The words meant nothing; each syllable held such gravity that what they represented was lost, two words that were never meant to be uttered. For a moment, they were the only two people in the world. A connection formed between them; that of a dark secret whispered in confidence to the only person who would understand. It only took two words for everything to change and nothing would ever be the same again.

Constance couldn't bear the look in Amelia's eyes. She turned and walked away, staring distantly out of the open window as the bright sunshine touched her cheek with a warm, comforting finger of light. Her hands gripped her arms tightly, a firm embrace against the rush of emotion she banished upon detection; the tears yearned to fall, though she denied them in fear of losing everything she had.

_Everything will be alright I promise_

The echoes rang in Amelia's head, a lie she had never meant to tell. How could she now reassure her deputy when she could not do so even to herself? She couldn't find the words that she could sense Constance craved, the words which would lay her mind at ease and allow her to carry on; it broke her heart to deny her such a simple comfort as normality.

Miss Cackle cleared her bone dry throat and forced herself to break the unsettling silence.

'Constance, I-'

'Don't, Amelia,' pleaded Constance quietly, 'just...don't' Constance could not stand to hear words of comfort, lies born from pity and sympathy. She could read Amelia's thoughts from where she stood; the desire to mother her and tell her how everything would be alright was overwhelming, though the knowledge of the deceit it would be held her back.

'I don't understand,' confessed Amelia, shaking her head in disbelief.

'There's nothing **to** understand' Constance snapped, her tone harsh and bitter. Amelia could feel the venom and conviction in her words but her heart fell, weighed down with sadness, as she knew that it was her last resort to defend her dignified composure which was, it seemed, slipping.

'How could she do this to you?' The name did not need to be mentioned for an icy shiver of fear to run its finger down Constance's spine. She shuddered even at the thought of her former tutor and that made her despise herself even more than she already did.

'We don't know that it was her; there's no proof,' replied Constance bluntly, though Amelia knew better than to think that Constance didn't know the truth.

'You know as well as I do who is behind all of this, but you are too frightened to admit it,' Amelia stated bravely.

Constance turned on her heel and shot a look of pure anger at the headmistress, who felt the icy glare penetrate deep into her soul. Amelia could feel the rage of being accused of such a trivial weakness as fear; it was such a deep unyielding anger that it was almost as though she had been hurt by the remark.

'She does not frighten me,' Constance lied assuredly, turning her back once more to Amelia. She had learned by now to deny any feeling towards Hecketty Broomhead; the truth was not worth the pain that it would cause.

Amelia knew that any war she could wage with Constance would be lost in a fiery act of self preservation; she could see that she was not yet ready to admit to her past, whatever lay there, though the headmistress felt strongly that one day soon she would be. She looked at Constance, noticing how unfeasibly pale she was with her eyes fighting to stay open even in the middle of the day.

'You don't look well, Constance,' Amelia said kindly, her eyes warm and inviting at least a hint of truth. Constance sighed heavily. There was no use in defending herself anymore; it was true how ill she had become and it took more energy to deny it than to simply confess to it.

'What has happened to me is impossible. It is beyond every law on which humanity is based and the magic is deep and dark; it comes with a few...unfortunate side effects.' She felt her cheeks burn with the shame of embarrassment. Constance Hardbroom never admitted to weakness. She was infallible, her strength and power lasting long after others had fallen; and now she was on the point of exposing her soul, something she kept closely guarded and locked away in the dark to rest in peace until she died, and that shook her to her icy core.

'You can't go on like this,' Amelia warned her gently, moving a step closer. Constance turned to her, her eyes suddenly glistening with tears that could never fall.

'What can I do, Amelia?' she asked morosely, the vulnerability in her gaze almost frightening to the headmistress. She tried to respond, but she knew that they were no longer talking of her health and she couldn't have the power to tell Constance what to do; no-one should have such power but the one to whom it concerned. Amelia felt helpless, the aching responsibility she felt to help the younger woman trapped by her moral dilemma.

Constance allowed a flicker of a sorrowful smile to ghost across her face before it fell to its usual emotionless expression. She folded her arms and vanished, her head held high with the dignity she could never let go of, leaving Miss Cackle yearning to give her the help she could never accept.

Xxx

The sun dipped apologetically below the horizon, a line between the worlds of earth and sky which faded slowly as the darkness masked it. The two worlds slowly merged into one, the luminescent crescent moon watching over all as everything below hid from the uncertain vulnerability of darkness.

Constance sat in her room, slowly unwinding the braided bun perched tautly on the top of her head. Her fingers moved swiftly and carefully through her soft dark hair, like those of a pianist playing a symphony, as gentle waves fell loose and brushed against her pale cheeks. Her mind was lost in her thoughts, her head aching from the pressure of thinking one thousand things at once. She knew now that she was playing with fire, a crackling ball of unyielding heat which had the power her to burn her hands and leave scars on her already tainted life.

Whatever the reason for this child, its pure existence was swathed in unimaginable danger and Constance felt even in the comfort of her own room that they were far from safe. As the last strands of her hair fell, cascading down her back and rippling like when a stone is thrown into a millpond, she felt as though someone was watching her.

Wrapping her silk dressing gown around herself, Constance lay back on her bed and stared absently at the ceiling. She closed her eyes and banished her thoughts, concentrating only on the gentle flow of air as she breathed slowly in and out. She needed to be calm, to think logically and practically, and for this she was required to remove the emotions which had resurfaced from a place deep within her that she had thought long lost.

It was at this moment that she felt something, a strange sensation as though something was brushing against her abdomen. Constance opened her eyes and looked down, surprised by what she saw. Her hand had moved subconsciously, resting lightly on her stomach, and her thumb was stroking the soft material of her purple nightwear gently against the skin of her abdomen. She watched herself for a second and sighed as she realised what she had to do.

Xxx

Constance sat once more in the potions laboratory, stirring another potion rhythmically in a bubbling cauldron. She had learned long ago that the world was not a kind place, and the past few days had taught her just how right she had been. Nothing was simple and nothing was kind; everything had a reason, and to her it seemed that all of those reasons were selfish and malicious, despite the best intentions of a humble few.

She poured the potion into a beaker, the mixture black against the pure clarity of the glass, and smelt the distant musky scents as deep and dark as the purpose for which it had been brewed. Constance knew that she would hate herself, despise her actions until the day that she died, though in her mind there was no other option; this had to be the way it ended.

'What are you doing?' Constance jumped, nearly knocking the beaker to its death as she heard a familiar voice call from the doorway. Miss Cackle looked at her, dressed in her own black night clothes and waiting patiently for a reply.

'Headmistress I...how did you...' Amelia sighed apologetically.

'I have to admit that I have been keeping an eye on you, Constance; you can hardly blame me.' Constance, under any other circumstances, would have felt a great betrayal from her closest friend though considering her own actions she could feel no anger towards her.

Amelia looked at the potion, still emitting wisps of lilac smoke which danced in the air as they broke free of their prison of glass. She had never seen a potion so deep in colour, the viscous liquid almost void of any light with such depths that it seemed to radiate a darkness which made her shiver. She thought back to the many volumes, though the guilty look on her deputy's face as she could not quite hold Amelia's gaze told her all that she needed to know.

'No...' she whispered, her voice caught in disbelief, 'Constance you can't.'

'I have to,' Constance replied definitely, 'there is no other way.'

'What do you mean?' Constance sighed deeply and rose from her desk, pacing as though it would ease the pain in her heavy heart.

'However this happened, it was unnatural; this child was never meant to be,' she explained. Amelia looked horrified struggling to find the words to express how she felt.

'Even so, that doesn't mean that it shouldn't be given a chance.' Constance held her gaze for the first time in what seemed like forever, and Amelia saw genuine sadness and regret deep within the pools of brown; it had not been a decision she had made lightly.

'How could I do that? How could I bring a child into the world that was conceived under such dark magic? Its life is in danger before it is even born and I would never put an innocent baby at such risk. Whatever purpose with which it came to be, it was not meant with good intentions and I would never forgive myself if...' She couldn't bring herself to say it.

At the moment when her hand had touched the place where her child was growing she had felt it living within her, as part of her. She felt a connection and knew that it was her duty to protect it; she would never allow a child, her child, to be born simply to be taken away and she could never forgive herself if that happened. Mistress Broomhead would have never given her a child simply through kindness or even malice; she wanted the baby and that thought scared Constance more than she dared to admit even to herself.

Amelia didn't know what to say. She knew that what Constance was doing was purely selfless; the pain in her eyes as she spoke had shown her that. Yet even so she felt that her deputy would regret the child she had never had in years to come and she could not help but ask one finally question before she left.

'I know that this is your decision,' she said gently, 'and I know that you feel that you are doing what is right by this baby. But I need you to think, just for a moment, what **you** want. This is your baby, part of you, and you have to ask: could you ever forgive yourself if you let it go?'

Constance thought the answer was simple; she wanted more than anything to be able to give a straight answer and walk away from this unscathed. She felt something, deep within her; something that she could not quite place.

Amelia walked away, wondering if she had done the right thing and leaving Constance alone with a decision; one that would change her life forever.

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><p><strong>I am getting good at these cliffhangers :) Hope it was alright and more soon<strong>

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	13. Chapter 13

**Sorry for the delay, but this has been another one of those hard chapters to write, though my longest yet in consolation! As I said, hard to write and not perfect but more to come soon. **

**Thanks to all those who are reviewing! Hope you enjoy it...**

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><p><strong>Chapter 13<strong>

The sun had barely begun to rise above the thick morning fog, the birds still sleeping in their nests and not a sound to pervade the stillness of the air. The Witch Training College was silent, not a whisper nor a breath to break the golden silence which had descended through the night.

Constance materialised in the baron courtyard, her appearance barely the ripple of a pebble on an ocean of calm. At 16 years old, she was still a stranger wandering the corridors of the school, despite the many years she had been residing there. She was not like the other students, a fleck of black paint on a brilliant canvas of colour that stayed in the safety of solitude and never tried to fit into the bigger picture.

As a favourite of Mistress Broomhead's, she had learned quickly that the title brought only fear and trepidation to the hearts of her classmates; she even saw a glimmer of what she could only describe as pity when she left for her private lessons. Not all were taught by Mistress Broomhead, but those who were knew what she was capable and yearned to say something to Constance, though what they did not know. She disappeared for hours on end, returning to her room in the early hours looking pale and often holding her casting hand close to her chest; if only they knew the truth.

Constance had learned that to stay in solace was the best thing for her. She did not need the awkward questions which friends would ask, the shame of having to avoid them after returning from Mistress Broomhead's classroom; and she would never risk allowing her tutor to use them to hurt her. The thought of her actions causing another to suffer was too much of a burden to bear. No, it was best that she was alone; to survive each day as it came in quiet solitude with her dark secrets confined to her own mind, and with them left with the blissful ignorance of wondering rather than the darkest horrors of knowing.

She sat on one of the wooden benches, moving gracefully like a ghost across the stone ground as though her feet never touched the ground. Her long dress skimmed across the ground, a fine black silk reaching from her neck to her feet, and her long dark hair rippled down her back like waves flowing onto the shore.

Constance opened her palm and a small black book appeared from nowhere. She flicked her fingers, the pages turning before her until she reached one of the only spells in the book she had not yet tried. Reading through the incantation twice, she closed the book and placed it delicately beside her, closing her eyes and breathing deeply.

She concentrated hard, though did not feel the need for the words of the spell to pass across her lips; at once, Constance felt her magic course through her and she opened her eyes to watch it work. Her long bony fingers moved gently through the air, channelling her power. A small seed appeared on the ground, no greater in size than a small coin. Though as the next moments passed it grew and flourished before her into a fully grown cherry blossom tree which soared into the air and hung over the bench, its flowers dancing like perfect white ballerinas in the gentle breeze.

As she allowed the spell its chance to finish, Constance felt the watchful eye of another burning at the side of her face. Before she had the chance to look, she heard a feeble cough of introduction and turning sharply to see a young man standing in front of her, wearing a sheepish smile. Her heart stopped beating for a moment in her chest and her blood ran cold, her limbs stiffening where she sat. She wanted to run, to disappear on the spot and to banish him from her thoughts; yet something in his simple face made her stop, an invitation of trust in his warm dark eyes.

He was tall, his fair hair like two curtains flopping across his face and his smile was genuine, the crinkled lines either side of his eyes where laughter had left its impression. She guessed that he was in his early twenties, a young wizard recruited to the college for one of a thousand reasons; in another life, she imagined them for a moment as friends but the danger he posed in her life was already becoming apparent with every thumping beat of her heart against her ribs. Friends were a luxury in which she dared not indulge.

She stared down at her lap, where her hands were lightly touching and prayed for him to leave her. Her eyes had already darted around to look for her tutor, though she knew better than to think she was not capable of avoiding detection and lying in the shadows to watch her every move.

'You're Constance, aren't you?' he asked, his voice smooth and warm like that of an honest man. Constance did not look up.

'I'm Tom,' he tried, holding out a hand which he knew that she would never take. Tom sighed, shaking his head and sitting down beside her. He saw how she fought the urge to leap to her feet, her hands curling into protective fists on her lap.

'Please,' whispered Constance beneath her breath, 'please leave.'

'I won't hurt you,' Tom assured her gently.

'I know you won't and I am sorry, but you have to go' she urged him, the desperation seeping into her tone.

Tom looked at her, his eyes relaxing in sadness; he knew more about her than the others in the college had bothered to find out. He had watched her from the day he had arrived, noting the way she walked to the side away from others and how she flinched ever so slightly at the mention of Mistress Broomhead's name. People had assured him that it was the way it had to be; the tyrannical tutor picked a favourite, someone who she would pride above all others and to whom she would impart all of her knowledge.

Yet to him, Constance seemed different. She was so young, barely 13 when he had first arrived though still capable of magic which was beyond even him. Tom knew that others refused to feel sorry for her, a girl dragged away from her family home and in the care of Hecketty Broomhead, because they were envious of her power. She was like nothing he had ever seen, a diamond cut pure from a rock face; though every day she paid the price.

'I want to help you,' he whispered. Ever since he had seen her, thirteen years old and stumbling through the corridors at night fighting the urge to cry and barely able to stand, nursing a broken arm or worse when she thought that no-one was looking, he had felt the need to help her. He had made a promise to himself not to let her go on in this way, a promise he did not know that they would both soon regret.

Constance resisted the temptation to smile, though not in a gesture of gratitude.

'You can't help me,' she said simply. She felt a flicker of warmth in her heart; everyone else simply turned a blind eye and pretended not to notice, happy to be ignorant of what went on behind closed doors. In this way, it felt so much worse knowing that there was truly nothing that he could do. She had resigned herself to the life she led a long time ago, with the knowledge that she belonged to Hecketty and her tutor was never going to let her go.

'Can't you let me try? I could get you away from here, away from her; somewhere safe where she can't find you. You don't deserve this.' As Constance looked at Tom, he was surprised by the wisdom which lay deep within her eyes; it was the wisdom of someone who had been through far more than a young girl should ever have to. Staring at her face, Tom considered how she could have been pretty, even beautiful. A hint of colour in her cheeks and a smile across her face and she would have shone, a blooming white orchid in a field of thorny red roses. Yet she hid behind herself, a pane of glass between her and others which separated her from the world and masked the beauty within to save her from emotion.

'She will always find me,' breathed Constance morosely. Tom knew that there must be a frightened, vulnerable child trembling beneath the dark silk of her dress and the ghostly pale skin, though he saw no glimmer of that girl in her eyes. She was locked away in the darkness, never to be seen or heard; a terrible secret never to be told.

'Please...' his hand moved to hers, a gesture of friendship and comfort meant with kindness. As the warmth of his hand brushed lightly against the icy skin of hers she felt a shiver of danger run down her spine and recoiled, sparks of the brightest red shooting involuntarily from her fingertips.

Constance felt her cheeks burn, hot with embarrassment and rage as she resisted once more the urge to run or to fight. Tom felt guilt mar his kind and gentle heart as she realised that he had hurt her, making her feel uncomfortable in his presence as he attempted to remove the barriers which protected her.

'Let me help you,' Tom coaxed, his voice rich with genuine concern as he tried once more to meet her gaze, 'you don't have to live like this.' Had he not known better, Tom could have sworn that he saw the ghost of a tear in her eye as she turned back to him, though her expression gave nothing away.

'Oh, but I do,' Constance said resignedly.

She felt her presence like the darkening of a room when shadows fall, her heart sinking deep within her chest as she prepared herself for the worst.

'Constance,' Hecketty barked loudly as she materialised in front of them, her eyes alight with fire, 'What are you doing out here?' Constance cursed as words seemed to fail her, though she breathed deeply and tried to stay calm; it was the only way to deal with her tutor without risk of further punishment.

'I was practicing, Mistress Broomhead,' she replied honestly, watching her tutor inspect the handiwork Constance suspected that she had watched her cast. She wonder if the softening of her eyes, for the smallest of moments, was what she deemed as pride and wished she could share in such a luxury.

'And you Thomas Woodstock,' Hecketty spat, spittle like the venom of a viper spraying from her mouth, 'I will deal with you later. Come, Constance.' She rose to her feet and followed Mistress Broomhead across the courtyard, barely noticing as they were transported to her office at the heart of the college.

Tom stared at the cherry blossom left in her wake, watching it wane and die as her hold on its magic was gently released. The leaves shrivelled and faded to the dull colour of death and the branches sighed, bending submissively to the ground until all that was left was a seed. He feared for her, a girl he barely knew yet felt protective of; he felt the need to save her.

Hecketty Broomhead strode confidently to her desk and turned swiftly on her heel to face Constance, who was watching impassively as she always did. She had sensed the danger of the whispered promises Tom had offered her, felt Constance's longing to believe they could be true as much as her desire to say yes and run away with him, a stranger offering a way out. Constance belonged to her, her prized pupil and the key to all she ever hoped to achieve; she was not yet complete, though soon enough she would be.

'Explain yourself,' Hecketty asked bitterly. Constance swallowed and begged her heart to stop racing in her chest.

'I was just practising Mistress Broomhead, when he came over to...to ask me if I was alright.' Constance knew the risk of playing with the truth, the price a lie could cost her as dearly as betrayal.

'You are not to see him again,' shouted Hecketty, the fiery rage which lived constantly in her stomach burning and spitting embers across the room.

'I shall have him taken care of.'

She thought hard but fast, the impulse which she knew she would pay for but felt she owed.

'There is no need, Mistress Broomhead; he was doing nothing wrong I assure you.' The words spilled from her mouth as though she had no control, a river of pleas like a rope with which to hang herself. The silence which followed was deadly. No-one ever questioned Hecketty Broomhead, not even other members of staff; no-one dared, as they knew what would happen if they did.

Bravery was a fool's emotion in Hecketty's eyes; the courage to speak up, to stand up, was more an act of insolence than a deed worthwhile of reward. She began to walk slowly across the empty room towards Constance, her footsteps echoing from wall to wall as she went.

'Mr. Woodstock was trying to poison you, to corrupt you for his own selfish purpose' she hissed, beginning to imagine the punishment she would inflict to control the danger Thomas Woodstock posed.

'No, he-'

'SILENCE!' Hecketty roared, her breath erupting in Constance's face. With a swift movement Hecketty raised her hands and Constance stifled cries of pain as her hair pulled itself violently back, each strand tugging hard on the skin of her scalp as it wound its way tightly into a plaited bun which sat on top of her head. She closed her eyes, channelling her magic in a way she knew that few were capable of; she used it to send a message.

_Go...run, for my sake, she will kill you..._

She never saw Thomas Woodstock again.

She stumbled back, breathing heavily as she recovered from the pain Mistress Broomhead had caused her though begging that her message had reached its destination. Constance looked at her tutor, who had a wicked glint of pleasure in her eyes, and knew that she was about to be punished.

'This will be the last time you ever defy me,' Hecketty stated clearly. As Constance felt the surge of magical energy course through her, igniting her body in a fire of agony, she vowed never to defy Mistress Broomhead again and kept her word for twenty four years. She was a symbol, a warning to others who shied away as they heard the echoes of a young girl's screams of pain through the morning bells.

Xxx

Constance was lying back on her bed, staring at the ceiling to her bedroom though at nothing in particular. Hours had passed since she had made the decision which would change her life, though she still doubted the choice which she had made. For every reason, there were one thousand in opposition and she couldn't help but ask herself if she had done the right thing...

Xxx

Amelia looked out of the staffroom window, though she was not sure what she hoped to find. A new fresh covering of snow had fallen overnight, white flakes lingering in the frostbitten air and glistening as they reflected the weak light of the sun. The bare trees were wrapped in the folds of the blanket of snow, though they were still vulnerable to the cold bitter wind which whistled violently through the branches.

It was Sunday, a day of rest at Cackle's Academy where the girls were free to do activities at their leisure; though for the headmistress, something was amiss. She had left Constance earlier that morning with a terrible burden to bear and an impossible decision to make; she had left her to make her own choice. Though she felt guilt, a weight more than she suspected that she could handle, pulling her down; she had left a colleague, a friend, in her hour of need. What was she if not a coward, for not wanting to have to live with the consequences of her words that night? The feeling, the knowledge, that she could have done more was killing her as she watched the clock tick onwards.

No-one had seen Constance all day. Amelia knew, of course, where her deputy was but had neither the courage nor the urgency to visit her; she needed time alone. Her heart went out to her, alone in her room with the weight of the world on her shoulders, and Amelia wanted nothing more than to see that she was alright.

Xxx

Dusk fell, the sun dipping below the sea of grey cloud tainting an otherwise perfect sky. Everything was quiet, an eerie calm setting in across a lifeless landscape. Constance stood past Walker's Gate, away from the relative comfort of the castle and standing straight-laced in the winter snow. She had felt that the walls of the castle were judging her, confining her until she felt stifling claustrophobia in her room; even standing with her eyes closed and the gentle rush of wind against her face she felt uneasy.

'You're a hard woman to find.' Constance opened her eyes, though did not turn to look at the woman standing beside her; she already knew who it would be. Amelia walked to Constance's side, a thick cloak wrapped around her freezing shoulders though she noted Constance seemed not even to notice the cold.

'If I do not want to be found then it is generally hard to do so,' Constance replied wisely. Her voice was a flat calm, a peaceful river of deep thought.

'I am sorry, Amelia,' said Constance unexpectedly, 'there was no need for me to trouble you with all of this.' Amelia's eyes softened, a warm hearth of kindness burning in her soul.

'There is nothing for you to be sorry for; I would do anything to help you,' she replied truthfully, yearning to take the younger woman in her arms and offer her the comfort she truly needed.

'It's all such a mess,' Constance sighed angrily, 'why is everything so complicated?' The question was not meant to be answered, though simply an expression of the frustration which Constance felt tearing at her deep inside.

'I feel so...selfish,' she went on, reluctant to admit to her own faults though feeling as though there was nothing left for her to lose, 'I don't know who I am anymore.' Amelia couldn't bear to see Constance like this, doubting herself over a terrible decision she had been forced to make.

'You didn't chose this,' Amelia assured her gently, 'none of this is your fault; don't let it change who you are.'

'I just wish that I could know that I did the right thing,' replied Constance, bearing for the first time a glimpse of her naked soul.

'Only you can know what is right,' Amelia said thoughtfully.

Constance sighed and felt the comforting touch of the wind on her cheeks once more. She stared at the sky, a perfect canvas of never ending white, and tried to settle the feeling of nausea which rose once more in her stomach. She knew, of course, that Amelia was right, yet as she thought more on it she could not help but wonder what consequences lay ahead, what questions she would unwillingly find the answers to and whether, when the storm subsided, she would still be able to remain true to herself.

'I just don't know how I am going to tell the girls.' Amelia's head jerked up to her deputy, her mind daring to wonder.

'You didn't...I mean you're still...' Amelia stuttered. Constance dared to allow a reluctant smile to creep across her lips for a moment and nodded.

'Oh!' Amelia exclaimed and she found that couldn't help the smile which refused to wipe itself from her face. She placed her hand on Constance's shoulder for a moment, seeing her stiffen but not resist her touch; it meant the world to her.

'I...I couldn't do it,' Constance explained, 'I don't know why, but I couldn't. God knows what sort of person that makes me.' She could not explain her actions, nor understand her reasons for them; there were many emotions she had not felt stir in her mind for so long and she wondered if they would cost her dearly.

'It makes you a very brave woman, Constance, and one that I am proud to know,' Amelia replied, feeling as if her heart could burst with pride.

Nothing more needed to be said; it was a moment neither would forget nor truly understand. A barrier broken, the ice queen melted if just for a second and a new beginning had risen from the ashes of doubt like a flaming phoenix.

Xxx

That night, Constance returned to her room feeling lighter than air. She started to wonder, just for a moment, if she could be happy; it had been a lifetime, if not more, since she had known what happiness could truly feel like. Sitting at her desk, she unwound her plaited bun and felt the relief as her hair fell across her shoulders.

She moved over to her bed, flicking her fingers to change into her purple silk nightclothes though mumbling as the Foster's Effect caused a rip to appear in the sleeve; for the first time in her life, she left it untended. Constance felt tiredness weighing down on her, like a small child pulling at her arm, until her eyes could barely keep from closing.

Lying on her bed, knowing she had seconds before she was lost in the murky realms of a dream world, she placed a hand once more over her stomach and imagined what was there, what was growing inside her. She wondered what it would be like to hold a baby in her arms, nestling its warm head into her chest; her baby. So much was uncertain, so many things that she had never thought could happen were facing her now; she wasn't ready for this. Constance could not say if she would be able to accept everything that would come to her in time, but a voice inside her head told her that it would all be worth it; and she believed it.

As she slipped into unconsciousness, into what ought to have been a peaceful slumber, she believed that everything would be alright; how wrong she was.

Xxx

Night had taken hold, the darkness unyielding and uncertain holding within it the dark secrets, the answer for which many would gladly kill. The power it held was eternal, the mysteries within it deeper than the darkest ocean and the lies it concealed bitterly evil.

Hecketty Broomhead lingered in the air for a moment before appearing, watching her former protégée sleep soundly before her. It sickened her to see her so weak, accepting defeat before the battle had even begun; only she knew what was coming.

Constance had thought that she wouldn't know what she almost did, the plans she almost scuppered with her impertinent guilt. She was right to question the pregnancy, right to assume that it was no accident nor a gift and it wasn't; the child served a purpose. Hecketty would have commended her intelligence had she not been reduced to weakness at the hands of emotion; emotions were trivial, for those without the power to banish them.

She felt nothing as she saw the hand which rested across Constance's abdomen, only the burden of the knowledge of how it was all going to end; she was the darkness which held the cruellest answers.

She materialised beside the bed, stroking a strand of hair away from Constance's face. Her eyes danced with the fire of a rage on which Mistress Broomhead survived, an anger which lived constantly burning in her soul. As she raised her hands, she braced herself for the screams which would follow.

'That is the last time you dream of defying me.'

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><p><strong>Cliffhanger, I am mean, but I will update soon I promise :)<strong>


	14. Chapter 14

**Sorry for the delay in this chapter, it has been a pig to write and another I am unsure about, so would very much appreciate comments on!**

**Thanks to those who have reviewed so far, it really does help :) Enjoy the chapter and I will try and update one more before my hols on Monday, if not it may be a while, 10 days, but will 100% certainly update before the end of July (I know, sorry!)**

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><p><strong>Chapter 14<strong>

Amelia Cackle did not know what had woken her at such an hour of the night. She sat up abruptly in her bed, feeling the slickness of perspiration on her forehead and her heart beating relentlessly within her chest. She was alert, blood rushing to her brain and adrenalin coursing through her veins though she could not think of why.

The wooden shutters which covered the window rattled violently in the wind, raging with the truant freedom of a rogue spirit lost in a world where it did not belong, heralded the rise of a mighty storm like a King ascending to his rightful throne. Great gusts of power enthralled the land it surrounded and commanded it to bend at its will, snapping branches from passive trees and laughing as it destroyed the harmony which had existed in nature for so long untouched.

The sky was an endless stretch of unfathomable darkness, a deep jet black which gave no hint of the warmth that it would possess once dawn brought an end to the reign of night and the sun rose triumphantly into the sky. It was the time of night caught between two worlds; a void which offered neither the brightness of day nor the certainty of night in a dark hour where all that the world could do was wait. The Earth appeared to stand still, as though deciding whether to turn once more or fall into the vast expanse of space with those who lived upon it at its mercy.

Something was not at rest; it seemed to Amelia like a disturbance in the natural order of things, a discord hidden beneath a perfect harmony which caused the weather to rise up in furious protest. Rain began to pound at the roof, the sound like fists knocking desperately against the worn tiles.

Magic lingered constantly in the air of such an ancient castle, though now it was like electricity ready to spark at any moment. There was a sense of danger in the air which Amelia could not place, and as she sat wondering why she had woken and listening to the sounds of nature raging around her she knew that she would not sleep again until it was at peace.

Xxx

Constance was floating, her mind a lone vessel bobbing silently on a sea of endless agony. Her mind was no longer at one with her body, escaping from reality to a place where nothing existed and everything was merely an echo of the real world. The pain had refused to cease, every cell in her body burning with the fire of one thousand raging suns as magic was absorbed into her blood stream and coursed through her, a never ending stream of agony. She had allowed her mind to wander; she knew that if she hadn't, then she would have been driven to madness by now.

The only sound which she could hear was a distant cry, her own screams echoing from the body which had been left behind. It hurt her to think of herself, helpless and screaming at the mercy of another; but there was nothing more that she could do. She had no control over herself, no hold over her own body anymore as Mistress Broomhead inflicted her cruel, unyielding punishment.

Her mind suffered the consequences, each second dragging on for one thousand years as the biting pain became all that she knew. She had been freed of the feel of her body, of how her hands had become claws as her muscles spasmed and how she lay doubled over on the bed; all she could sense now was the never ending agony, pain without reprieve until the end of days. For many it would be hell, the impossible torment which was worse than the final release death could provide; for Constance, she simply thought of the one thing she had to hold on to and waited.

Constance could not bear to think of herself as weak. She knew as she listened to the endless echoes of her own screams that she was beyond fighting. Her magic had failed her, blocked by the power of Hecketty Broomhead and made redundant in her useless body. She had always been infallible, the indestructible force who could handle anything. Even as a child, even when Hecketty had pushed her beyond what she thought it was possible to survive, she had made it through and she felt sick at the vulnerable woman she had allowed herself to become. She should not scream, or feel anguish for the pain which seemed be all there was; that girl would have simply waited for it to end and moved on; she didn't know who she was anymore.

Alone with her thoughts for what could have been hours, Constance dared to think of what she left behind in the body lying defenceless in her bedroom. She had tried for days to reject the truth, not even admitting to herself why she could not take the potion that night when it would have solved so many of her problems; she wanted to have this baby. It had never occurred to her before, the thought so far from her usual mindset; she had never imagined that she could ever want a child. It went against everything she had ever thought or felt, but it was true and she wondered if she would lose the chance to embrace it as the night wore slowly on.

She had always assumed that her life would be dedicated to her work, to teaching what she knew to others and nurturing the great power and skill which she had been gifted with; this was an anomaly which never should have happened. As a ward of Mistress Broomhead, Constance had not been permitted to see students outside the classroom, or allowed to divulge in the company of men. She had learned to accept this as a fact, as her life, and had convinced even herself that her dislike of the opposite sex was due to personal decision rather than a forceful hand. She didn't like the thought of her thoughts not being her own, of another woman shaping her mind and telling her how to live; she had simply told herself that she would never fall in love.

Now in this impossible position, cursed to remain in limbo without the knowledge of whether her baby was alive or dead or even if she would wake up, Constance didn't know how to feel. All that she knew was that for some reason, she did not drink the potion which would have ended her pregnancy. She had chosen instead to be selfish, something she had never done before. She had chosen to keep her baby and offer it the chance at life because that was what she wanted, rather than to spare it the dangerous existence it was destined to fulfil.

She wanted the baby in her life, for better or for worse despite the terrible risk she was taking. As her mind drifted deep into the endless chasm of nothing, further away from her dying body, she wondered for a moment if what she was feeling was something which for so long had been beyond her grasp: love.

Xxx

Pacing across her room, Amelia tried hard to concentrate on the niggling feeling which was lying right at the back of her mind, deep within her thoughts; every time she came close, it evaded her perception and was once more a mystery. She caught a glance of herself in the mirror hanging on the wall and could have sworn for a second that she saw a flash, another face in the mirror behind her own, a poor soul calling out for help. Within less than a second, the reflection returned to the one which she saw every day and she dismissed it as what comes with tired eyes.

Had it not been for the magic which he could feel like a powerful force in the air, she would have returned to her bed. She often sensed things beyond what others could, though she conceded more often than not that these were the worries of a caring woman who feared for others even when there was nothing to fear.

Amelia flexed the fingers of her right hand and as she commanded, sparks which shimmered in the dull light like gold dust appeared at her fingertips. Yet despite this, she felt something different; the sparks crackled, more powerful and violent then she had meant to conjure. The headmistress did not want to imagine what this could mean, recalling how the last time she had felt anything similar she had found Constance refusing to awaken.

Shaking dark thoughts from her mind, she dismissed such feared sentiments at once. This magic was different, stronger and more powerful like a force of its own which permeated every part of the air surrounding her.

She heard a noise, the faintest scratching which was almost drowned in the howling roars of the wind. Amelia sourced the sound, listening hard, and came to the door which led from her room into the corridor. She opened it reluctantly, though at first saw only the grey stone of the opposite wall; a soft purr made her look down.

The cat was sleek and black, her soft fur the shimmering colour of silk reflecting the light of the sun. She was standing at the door, marks on the deep mahogany where her claws had pawed at the wood which appeared like scars embedded which held harrowing memories. At first, Amelia assumed that Morgana had simply lost her way and had yearned for companionship, clawing at her door for the attention of another; her eyes told a different story.

She was standing with her back arched and her tail waving majestically in the air as if she was waiting, but it was her eyes that seemed to bear deep into Amelia's soul and try to tell her something. They shone even in the half-light of a candle-lit hallway, the bright colour of fire though with pupils so dark and meaningful that they told a story all of their own. Amelia looked at her for a moment, wondering whether it was more ridiculous to think that a cat was trying to communicate with her or to ignore the instincts telling her that she should listen.

Witches' cats often perceived more than ordinary animals, an impression of their owner's magic being left on their souls as they formed a bond which was not mirrored anywhere else in life. Morgana lowered her head to look deeper into Miss Cackle's eyes before silently bounding around the corner and out of sight; she had done all that she could do.

Amelia stood for a moment, unsure what to make of such an unusual occurrence. Morgana was an independent cat, often moving freely around the castle with no reliance on her mistress; there was no reason for her to come to the headmistress' bedroom that night, and Amelia could not ignore the fact that Morgana was Constance's cat. It could be no coincidence, she did not believe in such a thing, and a warning seemed to flash across her mind.

Xxx

Standing once more in front of Constance's door, Amelia wondered why she had made the decision to come here. She could offer herself no explanation other than it felt right, something to put her mind at ease and to ensure that after a trying day her deputy headmistress was well; a dark feeling in the pit of her stomach told her that was not what she would find.

Reaching her shaking fist out to knock, Amelia was surprised to be thrown back. Something cloaked with invisibility, a barrier of energy, had been placed on the door and pushed her hard back against the wall. The rain fell faster and harder on the roof, mimicking the quickening beat of her heart. Reason told her that Constance had placed the protection herself, a necessary measure to preserve what privacy she could get in such a public place; her heart told her otherwise.

She considered going back to her room. The magic in the air could be a simple side effect of the defensive charms and she heard nothing untoward coming from the room itself; yet she couldn't. She could not leave without knowing for sure that Constance was alright and she would accept the consequences of that decision.

Amelia muttered a spell beneath her breath, removing the barrier of energy with an unnerving ease; it did not feel powerful enough to cause the crackle in the air. Her heart raced as she reached for the doorknob, all of her fears coursing through her head at once like cyanide poisoning her mind with dark thoughts. Despite everything she had feared, everything she had thought that she might see, she was not prepared for the sight which befell her as she opened the door.

Xxx

Hecketty's head snapped around as she heard the door open. She stopped the magic coursing through her fingers and vanished at once as the shadow of the headmistress began to creep through the open door.

The screams which had rattled the air still lingered as Hecketty materialised within the hallowed halls of the Witch Training College, which were as dark and lifeless as she knew her former protégée would now be. She had planned to leave her longer, though knew that by now her point would have been well established. She didn't like the fact that the screaming had been like music to her ears, a sound which she dared to say that enjoyed, but that was the truth. She loved the feeling of ultimate control, to have the power over a life and the decision on whether they were allowed to live; that feeling was what gave her meaning and authority, what struck fear into people's hearts and made her who she was.

Hecketty Broomhead was surprised when she felt faint as she tried to walk to her room, stumbling and grappling for the nearest wall to keep herself steady. She produced sparks at her fingertips, though they were weak and fizzled out like a dying fire burning to nothing. Hecketty realised how much magic she had used upon Constance, the extent of what she had done suddenly becoming clear; yet not a flicker of guilt ghosted across her emotionless face.

She knew that Constance was alive, she could feel it, and as long as she was alive then the plan would go on as set out from before the day Constance was born; it would all be worth it.

Xxx

Constance felt her mind being dragged back to her body, pulled back to suffer as the agony reached its peak; she had though that she could hurt no more, though it soon became apparent that she had been mistaken. Though her eyes were closed, she could feel the magic leave her and the screams seeming to voice themselves from the back of her aching throat die down. She fell, unable to stop herself, toppling from the bed to the floor and felt her head collide with something before everything went dark, a darkness she thought that would never be broken.

Xxx

As soon as the barrier broke and the door swung open, Amelia heard it; the screaming. It was a sound like she had never heard, which made her hair stand on end and her heart freeze in her chest; the sound of true suffering beyond imagination. She watched a silhouette disappear, just catching the look in her eyes before she vanished and knowing at once who was to blame. As her eyes moved to Constance, Amelia froze. She became a sculpture locked in a prison of ice and forced to watch the truly horrific scene unfold.

She had watched as though looking through a pane of glass at something she could not quite reach as Constance screamed in agony, doubled over in pain with her eyes tightly shut. Her body emitted a faint glow, a discerning shimmer as though completely engulfed in magic which was torturing her to the point where she lost all control.

As the silhouette vanished, the glow faded to nothing and Constance was finally released from the torment. She slumped, her muscles relaxing and her body losing any strength it could have retained falling to the floor. Amelia gasped as her head hit the floor hard and Constance lay still, face down on the cold stone. She ran to her, breaking through the barrier which had separated them to collapse at her side. Her mind was a haze of emotion and disbelief. She gently pulled Constance's shoulder until she moved onto her back; her lips were still parted in a silent cry. She could not explain what she had seen, nor did she want to, but she knew who had done it and she cursed her name in anger as hot tears spilled down her cheeks.

Xxx

Kneeling on the floor beside Constance, Amelia tried to think of what to do. She could see the gentle rise and fall of her chest which told her that she was alive, though the dark hair covering her forehead was becoming matted with deep scarlet blood.

'C-Constance?' she tried, tears falling from her eyes. She did not know what she had expected, but as she refused to respond her heart fell deep within her chest and she let out a whimper of anguish; she couldn't go through this again.

Amelia stood and did all that she could think to do, placing her arms beneath Constance's body and lifting her onto the bed. She was light, too light for a woman much taller than she was and carrying a child.

The baby.

As Amelia laid Constance down on the bed, her eyes dared to flit to her deputy's stomach and she had to wonder whether...it was too horrible of a thought for her to bear.

The only question she could think of was why? Had Mistress Broomhead come to punish Constance, to warn her or to kill her? So many things didn't make any sense, all of the answers cloaked in mystery as she stroked Constance's hair and prayed for her, something she had not done in a very long time.

Constance's eyes flickered open. She didn't know quite where she found the strength, her resolve like a thin tree branch bending past its limit in the wind and threatening to snap and splinter at any moment. She saw the teary face of Miss Cackle watching over her, her eyes feeling such things she knew she never could and she felt a pang of guilt; she didn't want anyone to have to cry for her.

She tried to move but her body didn't seem to want to respond. Everything ached as though the magic was still throbbing through her veins, and all she could manage was to move her hand feebly; she couldn't bear it. As Amelia tried to help her, Constance couldn't even look at her; the shame she felt at being so weak was indescribable.

She had never depended on anyone for anything in her life and now as she could barely move it felt like a betrayal, an unforgivable act of treason to who she was and everything that she stood for. Constance felt lost in the world, no longer sure of the place she held within it. She had always been the powerful stoic woman who everyone feared, yet offered the deepest respect for her dexterity and authority. If she wasn't that woman, then who was she? Where did she fit in now, unable to fight the battles which had haunted her since youth and weakened by the emotions which the defenceless child lying with in her provoked?

At that moment she felt worse than she ever had in her life; worse than when she was lying beaten and bleeding on the floor of the Witch Training College, worse than the night her father had sold her to Mistress Broomhead like a possession without value and worse than she had almost lost the child she had now come to crave. She felt worthless, like the shadow of a ghost compared to the person she had once been. Cackle's was the first place that she had felt that she belonged, yet now she felt detached; she didn't belong there anymore.

Anger surged within her like the winds raging outside and she pushed Amelia's hand away, forcing her battered body into sitting position and swinging her legs over the side of the bed, making to stand though she knew that she couldn't. She breathed heavily, each intake of air a great struggle and caused a pain which felt like it could stop her heart every second.

Amelia watched her with sadness in her eyes. Constance would never ask for help, she knew that, but she could not even accept it when she was too tired and pained even to speak. She had so many questions, so many things that she needed to say yet she couldn't find the words, knowing that anything she said would be dismissed before she had a chance to explain.

'Constance,' Amelia asked gently, 'what happened?' Constance looked down at the hands trembling in her lap.

'Nothing happened,' she lied, her flat emotionless voice giving nothing away, 'it was...a nightmare, that's all.' The headmistress waved her arm in the air, causing the candle mounted on the walls to spring to life and cascade their brilliant light across the darkened room; here, Constance had nowhere to hide. She was unmasked and the true extent of her suffering, the things that darkness had concealed, was exposed.

She could no longer hide how her head lolled merely from the effort of keeping it raised, nor how her eyes danced with a vulnerability Amelia had never seen lying there before.

Amelia did not know what Mistress Broomhead had done to her, but she could feel the magic radiating from her body. It was dark magic, magic designed to inflict pain and to cause suffering; she did not want to think what the younger woman had experienced since the last time their eyes had met in the courtyard an age ago.

Reaching a hand to her forehead, Constance tried not to wince as her fingers touched the tender red skin that had swollen and was still oozing blood which ran down the side of her face like the teardrops which would never fall. She touched beneath her nose and found her finger glistening red though staring down, it was as though she could not understand what it meant. Her mind was slow to react, confused and dazed and she felt as though she could sleep for one hundred years, though she wouldn't; she feared that she would never wake up.

'You have to go,' Constance said suddenly.

'I'm not leaving you like this,' Amelia insisted, desperation creeping into her tone.

'I wasn't asking,' Constance told her sternly, the voice which had once carried such authority and certainty cracking like broken glass, 'I am perfectly alright.'

Amelia conjured a white handkerchief and made to wipe the blood which was now covering most of Constance's face, but in a burst of anger the potions mistress pushed her away once more; though she suffered the consequences of her stubborn actions. She cried out, doubling over with a hand across her abdomen as pain took over her body. For a moment, her head was swimming in darkness and everything else melted away but she pulled herself back, refusing to give in as she had done so easily before.

She felt the headmistress' hand on her shoulder and tried to shrug it off, though it was all she could do to stay awake. Constance managed to open her eyes breathing deeply as her heart thudded weakly in her chest, but she knew that she couldn't hold on for much longer. The effort of merely living was becoming too much and though she hated herself for it, there was little else she could do.

'Please,' Amelia begged, tears falling once more down her sodden cheeks, 'I-I can't see you like this, it breaks my heart; just let me help you.'

'I...' Constance breathed trying to find the energy to speak, 'I am f-' The words wouldn't come, such lies stopped by the slowing of her heart. She had to do something, but she didn't know what she could.

She tried to stand though her legs could not hold her up and she buckled, falling gracefully like a dancer into Amelia's arms. The headmistress lay her on the bed and was relieved to see her eyes opening once more, though her skin seemed to have lost all of the colour it had once had and was now the smooth complexion of a china doll.

'Amelia,' Constance whispered, her voice lacking any life and fading until barely a sound remained. The effort it took for words was almost too much, though she had to speak through the pain.

'What is it?' Amelia replied, desperate for answers.

'The desk...' Her eyelids fluttered, threatening to close for what they both knew could be the final time.

Amelia ran to the desk and wondered what it was she was supposed to be looking for. The desk was strewn with papers, essays and reports though nothing which seemed it could be of use. As she began to panic, she noticed a small brown bottle of liquid hiding behind a stack of paperwork and grabbed it, running back to the bedside. She noticed, with fear striking her heart, that every breath Constance took was slow and rattled dangerously. Tipping some of the thick, dark liquid down her throat Amelia hoped for a miracle, for she felt that there was nothing else which she could do.

Xxx

Constance opened her eyes and saw the headmistress sitting on a chair at the side of her; she knew at once that the potion had worked. With newfound strength, she sat up in her bed though she was painfully aware that she would suffer for it later. Constance noticed a dressing on her forehead and how her hair had been tied back away from her face and looked gratefully at Miss Cackle.

'Thank you,' she said simply, but Amelia could see the feelings with which it was meant and smiled weakly.

'What was that potion? I've never seen it before.'

'A very old remedy,' explained Constance, 'it cures anything, any disease or ailment in the world for a few hours, but then the affliction returns and you have to suffer the consequences; it buys time, but not much else.'

'What will you do when it wears off?' inquired Amelia, leaning forward and not bothering to hide the concern in her tone.

'I will have to wait for it to pass,' Constance replied finally, the conversation trailing to silence.

'What happened?' pushed Amelia. Constance looked away, her fingers subconsciously tracing a circle on the back of her hand.

'I know it was her, Mistress Broomhead,' Constance stiffened at the mention of her name; even now it brought her such apprehension that it scared her how much of a hold that woman had over her.

'She...put me in my place,' replied Constance evasively.

'What for?' insisted Amelia angrily, 'what on Earth did you do wrong?' Constance looked at her wishing for the truth to dawn on her so she did not have to say the words.

'Oh God...' whispered Amelia, remembering her earlier concern, 'Constance, the baby.'

'It's fine.'

'How can it be? You were doubled over in pain, she could have-'

'Amelia,' interrupted Constance, her eyes holding a sadness she had not seen in a long time, 'the baby is fine. She...she put a protection spell over the baby so she wouldn't harm it when...There is nothing for you to worry about.'

'Why would she want to hurt you but not the baby? What does it mean?' asked Amelia, her mind a fog of confusion.

Constance sighed. She hadn't wanted to have to admit it, but she had precious little time left before she was incapacitated once more and she was losing the energy to fight.

'She wanted to punish me for thinking about getting rid of the baby. Amelia, it means that she wants my child.' A deadly silence hung in the air, one of knowing and of fear. If Mistress Broomhead wanted the baby, then she would do everything in her power to seize it; they were all in danger.

And then, something Amelia never thought that she would ever see occurred. Constance brought her hands to her head and began to cry, silent tears flowing down her pale cheeks and falling onto her lap.

'I was selfish,' Constance told her, 'I wanted this baby for myself and now I've put it in danger.' Amelia had never seen Constance drop her guard so completely, abandoning her everyday facade in favour of true, raw emotions which had been, for so long, locked away. The headmistress walked over to her and put an arm on her shoulder; for the first time, she did not even stiffen.

'This is not your fault,' reassured Amelia comfortingly.

'I never thought I would ever get the chance,' Constance whispered, revealing something she had only just realised; that this was something she had always wanted.

'Listen to me,' Amelia said assertively, 'I swear to you that I will not let Hecketty Broomhead have your baby. We will put more protection around the school, anything to keep her away and I will do everything that I can to keep you safe. Neither of you are going anywhere.'

Constance looked up at her but could say nothing as fresh tears, tears of hope, fell in place of those of sadness. Deep down she knew that it was not that simple, but for now she would bask in the notion of a positive future and let her harrowing fears, the voice of reason, be silenced and banished. She knew that after tonight she would rediscover the walls which had kept her apart from others and lock away her emotions once more, but for one night at least she could be the person she could have been, held in a mother's arms.

She felt once more like she could belong, not simply as the woman she was but as the woman she could be. Mistress Broomhead had made her into someone she despised, the mirror image of her tutor with no emotions or feelings, no heart to be worn on her sleeve for all to see. As she slipped into unconsciousness, tiredness taking over her weak and feeble body, she dared to believe that she could, one day, be something different and that everything would be alright.

But every silver lining carries with it a dark cloud. Hope, despite its wondrous beauty, is never enough; there is always a fight and one the Constance did not yet know that she would lose, and with it lose everything.

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><p><strong>Ooh<strong> **intriguing cliffhanger methinks?**

**In case I do not update, a few hints for the next few chapters:**

**The school discovers the truth, Amelia makes another promise she can't keep and the baby causes more problems...**


	15. Chapter 15

**Hello! Sorry for the delay, considering the last chapter was weeks and weeks ago :S But I have managed to conclude holiday with illness whoo :) Plus I had forgotten where I was going with this chapter until today, but fortunately I think *crosses fingers* that it is alright. **

**Hope you enjoy, thanks for reviewing those who have! Next chapter shouldn't be too long all being well.**

**Also, decided to open the floor for baby gender/name suggestions. Thought I might as well, though there is rather a bit more to go before we get that far! All suggestions welcome :)**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 15<strong>

The next two days passed in a haze. Constance drifted, neither fully awake nor deep in the clutches of slumber as her body tried to heal the wounds, both mental and physical, which had tainted her innocent soul. Often she dreamt, fragments of her troubled thoughts manifesting in flashes of reality from her past which served only to torment her already fragile mind.

There were times when she was pulled from her restful state, waking gasping for air and with pain piercing her skull or her insides churning until she thought that she would surely drown at its mighty hand; though each time, it passed. She sometimes felt, every once in a very long while, the gentle touch of another's hand against her own which soothed her fraught and frantic mind, if only for a blissful second.

She had told Amelia that she was sure that the baby would be fine, yet even with her certainty she allowed doubt to creep into her mind. So much was at stake, a life that had not yet had the chance to be lived, and she could not bear to think of what she could lose; it had become her life in such a short space of time, her whole world, though in the murky depths of troubled sleep she was forced to accept that the assurances she had given to the headmistress could have been hollow, the unfounded and empty truth which concealed a horrific lie.

Xxx

Amelia had left Constance to rest, knowing that despite her yearning to mother her, to care for her, there was nothing more that she could do. The rest of the school had already begun their hushed whispers, huddling in corners or speaking quickly beneath their breath as they walked between lessons to keep their musings silent. Constance's untimely disappearance would never have gone undetected, though the headmistress wished that it had not become such a spectacle. The girls were bright; they noticed things, perceived what darkness lay beneath a simple absence and would not let it lie at peace until they knew the truth.

The lies spread like an incurable plague, reaching every inch of the castle by the full light of day in an attempt at understanding; Amelia wished that she did not know what they were saying. It was better not knowing, to be curious yet ignorant to what people truly felt; the reality was far more upsetting. She knew that many of the girls wished Constance ill, for her to stay away to indulge their own selfish desires and it hurt her to know how they spoke of her deputy.

She wondered if Constance knew how the girls saw her, how they truly felt about her; Amelia suspected that she did. How could she not let it get to her? The knowledge of others delighting in her absence should have torn her apart, should have touched a nerve sensitive even to the coldest of hearts; yet nothing.

Amelia could not understand why she was so unaffected by it all, though she guessed, in time, the most heart-warming of truths; that she did it to protect her students. As long as they feared her, giving her unwavering respect yet leaving lessons cursing her beneath their breath, then she could teach them all that they needed to know with nothing else to cloud her path. Perhaps her heart was not carved from the coldest stone, but simply masked to protect herself from what she knew they thought of her whilst shielding them from her true self and the secrets of a life they would never understand.

She wished beyond hope that she could tell them everything, to make them understand why; she knew that she never could. They would finally be able to see Constance for who she was and realise what the woman they hated had gone through behind closed doors, but the truth was a distressed damsel locked forever in the tallest tower never to be released.

The frustrations nagging at her mind kept Amelia awake at night. She knew only parts of the fractured truth of Constance's life, painfully aware of the dark corners which lay beyond her comprehension for only Constance to know. Amelia understood most of the events unfolding around her, though the origins of these actions were swathed in the darkened cloth of mystery. The past nightmares Constance shared with Mistress Broomhead held so many potential answers, yet without knowing the full story Amelia discerned that assumptions would not even come close to reality. She knew only that Hecketty had hurt Constance, had made such an impression on her life that it had scarred her forever though nobody would ever be gifted with knowing. Amelia would have given anything to learn the truth, to learn the answers to so many questions and to be able to protect Constance from the evils which haunted her, though she knew not of the price that it would come.

Xxx

She visited Constance almost hourly, stealing moment between lessons and excusing herself from the staffroom simply to sit beside her. Amelia liked to think that Constance could feel her presence, though she was beyond believing undoubtedly that this could be true. What she did believe was that when she woke crying out in pain though unable to open her eyes, the knowledge that someone was there helped ease her back into what the headmistress knew was an uneasy sleep.

She often cried, the hardest thing to watch her struggle and battle her demons alone whilst the rest of the school whispered coldly behind her back. She wished that she could take on Constance's burdens as her own, to share her pain and relieve her suffering if only for a moment; being forced to sit and watch, unable to act, was killing her.

The bell rang and the morning ended with groups of girls hurrying along the corridors and exchanging knowing glances, ready to discuss their latest findings or theories about the deputy headmistress' disappearance over lunch. Amelia had a pile of work which was mounting on her desk, but she could not wait another moment before rushing to Constance's room.

Every time she opened the door, she hoped that she would see her deputy standing before her, adjusting the tight bun which always sat on top of her head and assuring her that nothing was wrong just to prevent her from worrying. Walking once more into her room Amelia's heart fell deeper into her chest; each time her hopes were dashed, it was harder to gather them back up and after more than a day she feared the worst despite herself.

Xxx

Mildred stared at nothing in particular, her eyes glazed over as her mind became lost in thought. She had grown tired of the endless contemplation concerning Miss Hardbroom's whereabouts, each suggestion more ridiculous than the next. Ever since that night in the potions laboratory, she had known that something was wrong and she felt it sitting uncomfortably within her now more than ever. She craved the assurance that the potions mistress was simply under the weather, wishing nothing more than to hear the terrifying comfort of her chilling tone ringing through the hall and the room falling silent at her will.

Without touching her soup, Mildred left the table and made to leave the hall. Enid caught up with her, grabbing her arm lightly.

'Where are you going?' she asked inquisitively. Mildred was caught off guard; she had not planned to explain to anyone what she was doing.

'I...just needed to clear my head,' she replied, a half truth which concealed her true motive. Enid looked at her disbelievingly; as someone who knew too much about deceit, she could easily tell when the truth was not in abundance. She took a moment to pause for thought, something she rarely did as an impulsive character, yet she knew that she had the answers to her own questions.

'This is about HB, isn't it?' Mildred didn't need to reply, her eyes said everything that there was to say. She looked down, reluctant to explain herself and not truly able to justify her own actions to herself let alone Enid.

'I'm sure she's fine,' Enid said comfortingly, 'HB can take care of herself.'

'Exactly!' hissed Mildred, trying not to draw attention to herself, 'HB doesn't give up, not for anything, so whatever happened yesterday must have been huge; she could be in real trouble.'

Enid hated to admit it, but Mildred was right. Miss Hardbroom was the toughest person she knew, and whatever she thought of her as a person it did seem out of character for her to disappear like this; it sent a chill down her spine. No matter how many times Miss Cackle assured them that there was nothing wrong, it served only to fuel her uncertainty.

'It's just something I have to do,' Mildred said finally, and Enid knew that the conversation was over. She looked over her shoulder at Miss Bat, who was distracted by a trio of first years reciting their latest chant. Enid looked at Mildred, deciding to put faith in her friend.

'Alright, but don't do anything drastic,' Enid warned and Mildred smiled at her, the insecure smile of someone with other things on their mind.

As she reached Miss Hardbroom's room, Mildred realised that she didn't really know what to do next. She had known as soon as she had left the hall that she needed to go there; it was like her mind knew more than she could yet comprehend, though it seemed foggy and confused to her.

Fortunately, she did not need to decide what to do as the door swung open and she came face to face with Miss Cackle.

'Miss, I-' Before she could explain herself, her eyes wandered past the form of the headmistress and fixed on Miss Hardbroom, lying motionless in her bed with the feeble light from the window shining on her impossibly pale face. Had it not been for the slow rise of her chest, Mildred would have feared the worst.

She didn't know what to do, lost for words and able only to stare at her potions mistress with an expression of stunned disbelief. She had never seen Miss Hardbroom like this, without her hair in that signature bun and with no long black dress or keys jangling almost merrily at her waist as she walked. She was vulnerable, something none of her students had ever seen, her mortality naked for all to see as her hair was splayed on the pillow around her face and her face lacked its usual stern surety. This was not the woman Mildred knew.

'Mildred,' Miss Cackle said gently, placing a hand on the girl's shoulder, 'it's alright.'

'How can it be alright?' Mildred asked, her voice fragile with distress, 'she looks...oh God.' Mildred was surprised as tears sprang to her eyes; she did not know whether they were tears of worry or sadness, the feeling of concern for a woman she had openly despised alien to her hazy mind. Amelia closed the door, breaking her view of Constance and looked with kind eyes at Mildred.

'Mildred, I know you're worried about Miss Hardbroom but she is going to be fine. She had a fall earlier and she just needs to rest, but she will be up in no time. Trust me.' She felt a twinge of guilt at asking trust from such a blatant lie, though she had to respect Constance's wishes for secrecy. And after all, the true story was more dark and complicated than a harmless lie and offered far less sadness.

'Now can I trust you to keep this to yourself?' Mildred nodded silently. There weren't words to describe the unusual sensation which seemed to have put a spell on her entire body, so that she felt like she was floating and that nothing around her was real. She knew that Miss Cackle was lying; her eyes were too kind, too caring to be able to impart the blissful comforting lies without a hint of guilt to betray her. As she walked away, Mildred knew nothing more than Miss Hardbroom was in danger and that was enough to leave her shaken to the core.

Xxx

Light was fading, the sun reluctantly parting as the day came to its rightful end. With its departure, it took many things with it; the meagre warmth through the cold winter air which all depended on for life, the light which captured the beauty of the world in an ethereal glow but saddest of all, it carried with it the hope of many who had prayed that this day would not end like so many others, in darkness and disappointment.

Amelia watched the light, like her hopes, blink out as if it had never been there and as the third day without her closest friend, the daughter she wished she had known better, drew to an end she could not help but sigh. She would have to tell the girls something soon, she knew, as they were no longer convinced by her pointless lies. Miss Cackle allowed fresh tears, not the first she had shed that day, to well in her eyes and spill down her cheeks; would she cry in front of her pupils? She would try, with all of the effort she could muster, to keep it together for them, for the academy; but it was just so sad.

Constance didn't deserve this. She had never done anything in her life to deserve such cruelty, such senseless violence and injustice; she had only ever done what was best for others, to protect them, and in return she had been given impossible decisions and a burden she should not have to bear.

What if Hecketty came for the child? Amelia cold picture the horrific scene, Constance bent over her only child, an accident she had come to love screaming for someone, anyone to help her as Mistress Broomhead raised her hands ready to strike. She shook the thought from her mind, one too horrible even to consider; it was a problem that she would prefer to address at the latest of stages.

She rested her head gently beside where Constance's hand lay on the bed and allowed her tired eyes to flutter closed. She hoped that tomorrow would be better, brighter even; she had to, otherwise what was there left to hope for?

Xxx

Constance's eyes flickered, the first rays of sunlight too bright as she adjusted to the world once more. Her chest felt heavy, every breath more of a struggle than the last as she fought for the air her body cried for. Her heart beat slowly in beneath her ribs, each thud laborious and straining, almost too much effort, as it tried not to stop completely.

If just living was this hard, then she wondered how she could survive; it was a simple though which stirred her from this mournful sentiment, or to be more precise, a sound. It could have been her imagination, or perhaps an echo from a time she was yet to have: a laugh. The laugh was sweet, innocent and happy, as though nothing in the world could break its power; the high pitched musical laugh of a child, a baby. Before she could realise what was happening, a smile spread across her tired face. No-one else had to know about it, the ice queen melting for a moment at the thought of something she had never thought possible; it was her moment, one moment of happiness despite it all in the first warm rays of the morning sun. She knew then that she would fight, and win, though not for herself. She didn't matter anymore.

Looking around the room, her eyes came to rest on Amelia who was dozing silently with her head rested next to where her hand was and her smile faded. Constance knew how hard these next months were going to be, and felt so deeply sorry for those whom she had placed such a burden upon. She had tried so hard to protect other people from the problems she was cursed with, but to no avail and she hated what it was doing to the poor headmistress; Constance knew without the need to ask that she had been there the entire night.

Amelia stirred, feeling the stiffness in her neck as she straightened up. She expected very little of that morning, despite her optimistic style, though when she saw Constance awake and looking at her she almost fell from her seat in shock.

'Constance!' She gasped, tears of joy threatening to break free as she put a hand to her chest in a failing effort to quash her racing heart, 'are you-'

'I am fine,' Constance replied, though they both knew that this was a great exaggeration of the truth.

She made to sit up, refusing the headmistress' help through a pride which had already been tested too much. It took her a while and she felt so exposed as Amelia watched her gather strength she didn't have to prop herself up. Constance knew that she was pale, she could see it in the look which marred Miss Cackle's face with such deep concern, but she would not give up. She would never give up.

'You should rest,' Amelia suggested gently.

'I don't think I could stand any more rest,' Constance admitted half jokingly, 'and besides there are things that I need to do.' She knew before she tried that it was a mistake. Grasping the bedpost with a grip which harnessed all of the desperate energy she had, Constance pulled herself into standing position. Her legs wavered beneath her, threatening to buckle and Miss Cackle jumped to her feet to support her, but she refused. She needed to show her, to prove to the headmistress as well as herself, that she was not quite down just yet; it would take more than Hecketty Broomhead to cage the lion which roared within her.

Finally able to stand on her own two feet without the fear of falling shamefully to the floor, Constance removed her grip and took deep breaths, looking at Amelia as though she had proved a point. The headmistress shook her head, though she could not stop a smile from lighting up her tired face.

'I will never understand you,' she said, laughing despite the impossible darkness of the past few days. She knew then that she had to ask, and her smile dropped slightly.

'Constance, what do you want me to tell the girls?' Constance had known for some time that this question was coming and she had pondered her answer though had come to no clear conclusion.

'They can't know everything,' she explained, 'but I think that they need to know...well what they will only otherwise discover.'

'We should hold some form of assembly; when you are up to it of course.'

Constance looked sadly at Amelia, her eyes more fragile than she had ever known eyes to be as they glinted from her pale face.

'I...I can't, Amelia,' she admitted almost embarrassedly.

'Why not? If I tell them then they will only talk, spread rumours about you whilst you are away,' Miss Cackle reminded her. Constance nodded,

'I know, I know,' confessed Constance, 'but I don't think I could face saying it in front of them; I have barely begun to accept this for myself. I know they will whisper, I can handle them talking behind my back. I have had years of practice in being hated, feared and talked about, but I don't know if I could stand the look in their eyes if I were to tell them myself. I know it seems...cowardly, but I am rather new to this; would you do it for me?'

How could Amelia deny a woman who had been to hell and back the simple gift of privacy? A little dignity in a matter she did not understand was not much to ask, and with a gentle nod she obliged. She was surprised as Constance allowed a tear to roll down her cheek and put a hand on her arm, a small comfort in a world where everything and everyone seemed to be against her.

'Alright, I will tell them this morning and the gossip should have died down in a few days. Are you going to be OK?' Constance nodded determinedly.

'I feel much better.'

Amelia gave her a look, one which suggested that there was more she had to say though she held the words back in fear of what they would be and what they would mean. As soon as she had closed the door and she had waved a silencing spell across the room, Constance doubled over in unbelievable pain. Her hand across her abdomen, she slid with her back to the wall until she was on the floor, letting only a low moan escape her listening but biting her lip to prevent a scream from ringing throughout the castle. She was far from alright, so far away it seemed as though she would never reach it; that was not going to stop her. She had only needed to put Amelia's already frantic mind at rest, which she had achieved, though now as she sat allowing tears of an agony she had not thought possible to escape, Constance wished she had the freedom to be honest and to ask for help; it wasn't her, that was what held her back, but it seemed far better than the lonely and terrified person she was behind closed doors.

Xxx

As Mildred was playing with her breakfast, pushing the toast in circles around the plate with her fork, her mind was still on the potions mistress. She hadn't slept since seeing Miss Hardbroom lying motionless in her room, her mind to fraught with worry she didn't know she was capable of. She watched as Miss Cackle walked purposefully to the front of the room and knew that something had changed; she hoped beyond all possibility that the news she was about to here was good, otherwise she did not know what she would do.

Miss Cackle cleared her throat and prepared for the most unusual address she had ever given to a group of students, who were all listening intently with the knowledge that they would finally be given a straight answer to the unanswered question of the past days.

'Girls, I am pleased to inform you that after a nasty fall, Miss Hardbroom has recovered and will be back to work within a few days.' Despite the few moans that echoed in the hall, the headmistress could feel a sense of genuine relief from her pupils and she tried not to glow with pride; they weren't so heartless towards Miss Hardbroom after all.

Mildred's heart rose high into the air, a relieved smile breaking across her face as she relished in the news that she no longer felt the need to worry about the formidable potions mistress

'In addition, I have some other news which Miss Hardbroom wishes for me to relay to you all.' The room became encased in an immediate silence, the tension in the air hanging as they all watched and waited.

'Miss Hardbroom is expecting a baby.' No-one quite believed it at first. Some laughed, some simply gaped in awe and they all had to think hard for a moment about exactly what Miss Cackle had just said.

'I know that this may come as a shock to many of you, but I hope we will all be able to offer Miss Hardbroom our full support over the coming months.'

It wasn't long before the room broke out in fierce whispers, with questions of one thousand origins echoing across the room. Everyone thought it unlikely, impossible, or even a hoax but Mildred felt something different. In the pit of her stomach, as she heard the headmistress say the words, a knot had formed and was twisting even now. It was not that it was unusual, or even out of character; she knew that something was wrong. She could feel the danger which surrounded Miss Cackle's words and she knew without a doubt that there was something strange about this pregnancy, and that there was a storm on the horizon just waiting to strike.

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><p><strong>Hope it wasn't awful :) <strong>


	16. Chapter 16

**Sorry for the wait, this chapter has been rather a long time in the making I know. I hope it isn't too bad (runs from mallet NCD has now acquired to hit me with) as it was rather quickly written after the realisation that everything will be very hectic in a few days.**

**Next chapter should be soon, I know what is going to happen which is a refreshing change from usual! Enjoy this and please review, I love to know what people think.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 16<strong>

The gnarled, arthritic hand of winter seized the land with all of its cruelty and held it in a choking grasp until it begged for mercy. An icy wind blew, carrying the bitterness of the dying leaves and biting at anyone who dared to walk by. The trees stood, baron and shivering against the unyielding cold with nothing but a blanket of freezing snow to cover their dignity. The winter seemed to bring with it a cloud of depression which hung in the air every day; it was as though the harsh and deceitful season would never end, and with this feeling all hope seemed lost.

When you fall into murky depths of anguish, as darkness envelops you into its matrices and takes you for its own, it seems as if there is no way out. Lying cold and alone, there is not foreseeable end to the uncompromising blackness which is all that you see, all that you feel and all that you know. But a spark of light, the smallest prick on a veil without colour, is a hope which lifts you from the darkest depths of despair. When hope appears, as the never-ending night finally falls away, there is the euphoric relief of an end and a resolution to the seemingly eternal torment of an unquestionable evil.

As the last snow of winter lost its power and receded, dying away for another year until it would once again wield its endless power across the earth, hope was born in springtime. February rolled on into March with the fluid motion of a silk cloth being pulled to reveal a great wonder, one which has such untouchable beauty and the innocence for new life to relish in after the malicious depths of winter pass. It was another new beginning, with the sun shining like a ball of burning gold in the sky and breaking through the suffocating clouds to give warmth to a thankful world.

The start of each new morning was a blessing, a day in its infancy just starting to waken after the stillness of night. The vacant chill of winter still hung in the air, a ghost of times long past, before the sun could relinquish its full power beaming down from the cerulean sky.

Constance stood and watched the morning break with quiet curiosity, her eyes needing nothing more than the landscape she had come to know well to satisfy them. It was the last morning she would see alone, in the peaceful silence of an empty castle, and she thought she had to at least try to enjoy it. She had let her hair free and it rippled down her back, shimmering ebony in the first dawn's light, and placed a hand absent-mindedly across her swollen abdomen.

She too had a darkness within her. She could deny it to herself every day, pretending that she was happy and even daring to smile; there were no lies great enough to cover such an awful truth. She had changed, that she would not refute. As Constance had come to truly accept what it all meant, what was slowly but surely changing her life, there was a new woman behind the mask she forced herself to wear whilst working. She shone through; sometimes in a soft smile which had been absent from her face for far too long, or hidden in the simple way she said good morning.

On the surface, she was happier, and she could not dismiss this as a lie. She had only recently come to realise that this was what she wanted: someone who would love her for herself, despite of everything she was that others saw and ran from in fear or jealousy; a child would love her in spite of it all. Constance had not been loved in a long time. She couldn't remember a time when she had ever had the gentle comfort of knowing not just that someone cared, but that they felt deeply for her, for who she was even with her flaws. There had been a time, not too long before, when Constance had wondered if anyone would ever be capable of loving her, and now she had the chance for this elation she had never really got to feel.

Yes, on the surface, she was happy. All of the students saw it, her colleagues; even Miss Cackle was fooled by the simplest of facades. Inside, every day, she was screaming. It was the part of her she still kept locked away, the frightened little girl who cried until her eyes were shining red and shouted how she felt though no-one would ever hear. Her own body was a constant reminder, a flickering insight into the darkness she kept locked away within her. There were things she knew but could not accept, things she feared yet could not voice; her mind was a sea of troubles, an ocean of despair and an insufferable sadness, but nobody could ever know.

Caressing the soft silk which covered where her child was growing with her hand, Constance allowed a tear to escape from the very corner of her eye. Within its glistening water, this tear held the sorrows that would never be heard by others, the secrets of a woman with everything to lose. It fell as though in slow motion to the ground; as it hit the cobbled stones, any scrap of hope that had struggled on in spite of everything was shattered into uncountable pieces. She wanted to fall, to open her arms like the wings of a bird and let herself go. She could almost feel the rush of wind through her hair as she fell towards the ground, almost see the trees bend out of sight as the sky became all that she could see; one of the many freedoms she would never know.

She felt another's presence behind her, an air of warmth touching the frosted air where it had once been nothing but cold. Constance had never believed in the notion that a person carried an aura, yet she did not need to turn around to know that the headmistress was standing behind her. She had come to realise even more of late the genuine warmth and kindness which lived within Miss Cackle, the selfless love and trust she gave to those who she knew without expecting anything in return. People looked to her for understanding and comfort; even Constance had discovered an ear with which she could impart at least some of her dark truths. If she was honest with herself, she was envious of this impossibly caring nature; no-one would ever turn to her for a sympathetic judgement. It was not the kind of person she was, nor ever could be, and that was perhaps the one aspect of herself that she hated the most.

'I thought you weren't back until this evening,' Constance inquired, her gaze not moving from the point burning like fire on the horizon where the sun would soon rise. Miss Cackle smiled. She moved forward to stand next to her deputy, allowing herself a moment to take in her appearance. It had only been two weeks since she had last seen Constance, but in that time it seemed that everything had changed.

'I decided that I had quite enough to be getting on with here,' Amelia replied, a half truth which did not conceal her true motive well; her heart was too kind to be tainted with lies.

'You needn't have come back simply to check on me,' said Constance calmly, 'I am perfectly alright.'

'I can see that.' Amelia did not even try to deny why she had returned earlier than planned. It was no secret that she had not been comfortable leaving Constance alone in the castle, not with so much at stake, but she had relented, too easily. It had never left the back of her mind, the darkest fears she hoped would remain as nothing more than nightmares.

Constance removed her gaze from the line where the Earth met the heavens and looked down at her body.

'Yes, it is rather easy to see now. The concealment charms stopped working some time ago, but now nothing seems to work,' she explained. During the first half of the term, she had managed to hide her condition with clever magic; of course the girls knew, but she knew that reminding them every day would only amplify the whispers she was already hearing every day. Just before the holiday began, the charms had broken and now nothing seemed to work. Even at just 5 months, her abdomen was growing to a size more fitting of someone far further into their pregnancy and it was becoming more of a hindrance. Her tight fitting black dresses had gone beyond the stage where they could be magically altered and Constance had been forced to purchase more adequate black silk gowns which flowed over her body and made her seem as though she was floating above the ground as she walked, like a dark angel watching over the castle; or like a ghost.

'You look well,' Miss Cackle observed, not quite able to hide the hint of relief in her voice. She could not count the times she had thought of her deputy as the two weeks passed by, wondering whether the woman they now both feared would visit the castle again.

'As I have said repeatedly, headmistress, I am fine,' insisted Constance.

'It's just...'Amelia started, unable to dismiss the unease which sat uncomfortably in her mind, 'I though...I thought she might...' It didn't need to be said. Constance knew what she was talking to and her face, for a moment, softened; it was not as if she had not held the same fears herself.

'Amelia,' Constance said reassuringly, 'you do not need to worry about me. The day will come when I am going to have to face her, but she will not come until the time is right; I think we both know when that time will be.' The headmistress wanted to let it all out, to explain every fear she still had and every worry she had thought of; but Constance would not listen. She knew that, although it was not said, her concern was appreciated, yet she felt that the younger woman knew more than she was letting on. It was in the calm of her face despite the mention of the monster who had shaken her life from the day she had met with her that Amelia knew Constance had already guessed what was going to take place and had long since accepted it.

'You don't have to fight this alone, you know,' Amelia said comfortingly, staring out at the slowly swaying trees in the morning's first breeze.

'This is something I have to do myself,' Constance replied with a finality which touched a nerve with the headmistress.

'Besides,' she added, her thumb once again caressing the silk across her swollen bump, 'I'm not alone.'

Xxx

**Two weeks previously**

Constance looked out of the window from her chair in the staffroom as the final student left on her broomstick, soaring with ease into the air and becoming no more than a dot on a perfect blue sky. Amelia walked in, taking off her hat and throwing it carelessly onto a table before turning to Constance.

'Well, that's the last of them,' she said brightly, walking over to the urn to make herself a cup of tea. Constance did not deign her statement with any response; she simply continued to stare out of the window at nothing in particular, lost in her thoughts. Amelia looked at her sadly. It was not that Constance was unhappy, nor that she was in pain, yet the headmistress could sense the pure despondency emanating from her like a subconscious cry for help. She seemed lost, not just in that moment but in her life, and it was a terrible thing to have to observe.

'I'm fine,' Constance snapped, sensing without the need to ask that Miss Cackle was worrying about her.

'Are you though? Are you really?' asked Amelia. 'You have been through so much already, and it isn't over yet; forgive me for thinking that you might not be perfectly normal.' Constance's head snapped in her direction, her eyes ablaze with anger. Amelia noticed that her hands were lightly crossed to hide the visual evidence of her condition, which had become more apparent in the last few weeks. She wondered why she felt the need to hide something which everyone knew, even when it was just the two of them in the castle; Amelia guessed that it was fierce pride.

'I don't know how many times I have to say it Miss Cackle,' Constance said sternly, 'I am fine. There is nothing wrong with me, I am as I always was and your pointless worrying serves only to irritate me. I would ask you to keep your misplaced concern to yourself.' There was an awkward moment of silence which hung in the air, the tension of an argument waiting to ignite into a battle.

With some reluctance, Miss Cackle decided that she had to voice another of her many worries; she agreed herself that most were unfounded, but she knew that she would never forgive herself if she stayed silent and something unspeakable took place.

'Constance, do you really think that it is in your best interest to stay here over the holidays?' asked Amelia tentatively. Constance did not know whether to react with the anger boiling in her chest, fuelled by the frustration that people seemed to see her as an invalid, or with a stern but gentle reminder. After all, she was quite touched that anyone would care enough to question her, something which few dared even to try.

'I am perfectly capable of staying here,' she said with certainty, 'I have done so every other year and I intend to for as long as it suits. There is nowhere else where it is practical for me to go.'

'You could come and stay with me,' Amelia suggested, her voice almost on the verge of desperation, 'my house is too big anyway and there would be plenty of room for you to work in peace.' Constance shook her head and sighed.

'Amelia, next Monday is the 13th of March: your niece's birthday. Every year, your sister and her family come to stay with you and for the last four days of the holiday you go down to the beach together. Now tell me, where do I fit into that equation?'

Miss Cackle knew that her argument was flawed, but her childish persistence would not allow her to quit. She was a woman fuelled on fear, the fear for a friend in danger and a concern which would not rest.

'Couldn't you go back to your home? Anywhere has to be better than staying here for two weeks.' Constance looked at her, looked deeply into her eyes which were as bright as those of a rabbit caught in the headlights.

'Amelia,' Constance said gently, 'we both know what this is about.'

Neither wanted to say it, but it had to be said. It had to be heard aloud; otherwise it would rot as the darkest uncertainty on both of the women's minds.

'She won't come here,' Constance assured her.

'How can you know that?' Constance rose from her seat and paced the room slowly.

'Amelia, I have known Mistress Broomhead for a long time; I hate to admit it, but I know how she thinks. She will not come here until...until she needs to.'

'She came before, and we both know what she did to you then.' Constance stopped, the memories of that night still raw like an open wound in her mind. The hours drifting in a sea of agony, wondering whether she was going to live or die, whether she would ever see the light of day again.

'She had reason to then,' Constance explained after a moment of ponderous silence, 'she can't have any reason to return now.'

'You know what she is capable of,' Amelia said in a hushed tone. She never wanted to have to see an innocent woman harmed at the hands of that monster they called a tutor ever again, not after what she had witnessed. Constance looked once more at Amelia, with eyes which pleaded for a trust she could not deny.

'I don't want to leave you here alone,' confessed Amelia honestly.

'I have already put measures in place; I have informed the Witch's Guild of my situation and if anything happens to me, they will know that something is amiss. Hecketty Broomhead could not risk trying anything now - I am safe.'

The knowledge that Constance too had thought of what could happen if Mistress Broomhead reared her malicious head again put the headmistress slightly more at ease. She could not force her deputy to leave; she was a grown woman with the right to make her own decisions. Amelia was forced to push the niggling doubts to the back of her mind and forced a smile; she just had to hope that everything would be alright.

That night, as darkness fell, Constance returned to her room. She was now alone in the castle and, though she knew that there were countless spells and enchantments keeping her safe, she could not help but feel slightly ill at ease. She sat at her desk and looked over the list of work she had prepared for herself during these next two weeks. If she was not busy, then she would dare to have time to think and that was a dangerous luxury in her current state.

Morgana brushed against her leg and she looked down, seeing the bright amber eyes of her cat staring back at her with a stare that seemed to say far too much. The cat rubbed its soft cheeks amorously against her calf once more and then slunk off into the shadows, uncovering the end of a piece of paper she had been sitting on which was sticking out from beneath the desk. Constance reached down and picked it up, the yellowing parchment rough against her fingertips. With a chill which ran through her blood, she realised that it was the same paper that Mistress Broomhead had given her over four months before; but it had changed.

The words which had told her like divine scripture that she would bear a child had vanished, left with only one simple line of text:

_Intra filia regina_

_Vis magica vivit_

At first, it meant nothing. She read the words, over and over again, and although she understood the translation she could did not realise what it such words could mean.

It hit her like the familiar slap of a cold hard hand to the side of her face. Realisation flooded her body, coursing like ice through her veins and she shivered, the truth almost too much for her to bear. Constance rose from the chair, though dizziness plagued her frantic mind and she had to hold onto the desk to keep upright. She wanted to run, far away to a place where she and her baby could be safe and alone, distanced from the cruelties and the world. She conjured a bag and began in a desperate panic to pack her things, Morgana sitting on her bed and watching her with curiosity.

She stopped. Her hair had come loose from its bun and curls were hanging either side of her face, her chest heaving as she breathed deeply and heavily. She looked at the bag, overflowing with the few possessions she owned in the portrayal of her frantic panic, and she knew. Constance backed away until her back collided with the stone wall and she slid hopelessly to the floor. She put her hands gently across her abdomen and for once disregarded her stoic demeanour, allowing tears to spill from her eyes and fall across her pale face.

Constance sobbed, stealing choking gasps of breath as she let everything go, no longer afraid of what people would think of her. She screamed out, as though in pain, and hugged herself tighter as if had she let go she would have lost the baby living within her. She had never cried with such vigour in her life. With an open palm, she pounded the floor as if that would change the way it had to be and howled, everything she had once been breaking down until there was only her sorrow. Her world crumbled around her, with only one thought running through her mind:

_No, not her, not my baby, why my baby? WHY?_

From then on, Constance knew how it would all end. Perhaps she had always known, always feared that this was how it had to be since the moment she had found out she was pregnant; it was this fear, this cruel truth, that fuelled the darkness within her. She had to be ready, to fight for the only thing in the world she cared about and do whatever it takes to keep that safe. Her life meant nothing, she wasn't important anymore; she wasn't afraid of dying. If she had to die then she would not care, though she would not die in vain. If she had to die, then it would be for her daughter.

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><p><strong>Rather a dramatic end and a bit of an ambiguous one *grins a lot*<strong>

**All will be revealed in time. Hope you liked it and more soon...I hope! Please let me know what you thought**


	17. Chapter 17

**Hello again readers! This chapter has just been written today so forgive any possible (and probable) mistakes as I wanted to get it up rather than spend days checking it. **

**The latin from the previous chapter and everything will be explained later as some translations aren't right...I do know what I am talking about (ish!) **

**Enjoy the chapter and please leave any comments :)**

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><p><strong>Chapter 17<strong>

Mildred looked out of her bedroom window with a vacant stare, watching as the sun descended, the coloured sky darkened and twilight turned to dusk. She saw the stars just beginning to glisten, no longer hidden by the brightness of the sun, and wondered if there was anyone standing on one of those stars looking back at her with the same sense of wonderment.

The world was so big with so many dangers; sitting there alone, she felt as though she could feel each one like a growing bubble of fear in her chest. Mildred could sense without the need to question it that there was a danger ever-present in the castle, a consuming darkness which hid between the granite stones and in the very essence of the academy. It was there, whatever it was, waiting to strike with a fury that caused a shiver to run down her spine and a power so great that it felt as though it could not be stopped. For one reason or another, Mildred could feel this danger around her, sensing it shift and grow like a living creature skulking in the shadows, but without knowing what it was she could only watch and wait; until, she feared, it would be too late.

Xxx

There was a rapid knock at Mildred's door which shook her from her distant thoughts. Without waiting for a reply, Maud and Enid burst into the room with expressions which could have shattered from the weight of excitement they held.

'Mil quick,' whispered Enid, 'you have to see this!' Reluctantly, Mildred moved from where she had been sitting on her bed and allowed herself to be dragged along the corridor. She had to admit that she was curious; it had to be something unusual to excite her friends to the point of running through the halls.

They reached the top of the stairwell which led down to the front doors and Maud stopped so abruptly that Mildred nearly crashed into her. Standing cautiously half hidden by the corner of the wall, Enid pointed down to where Miss Hardbroom was standing at the bottom of the stairs; now Mildred knew what they had been so excited about.

Miss Hardbroom was standing talking to a group of first years in her usual stern manner, but her abdomen had grown to a size which seemed too great for a woman who normally had such a slim stature. Anything she had been using to conceal her condition, she assumed, must have worn off by now; was that a hint of self consciousness Mildred saw in her eyes? There was something, a vulnerability perhaps, in the way that the deputy headmistress was standing as if she knew that despite it being part of nature, she was weaker because of the child she was carrying.

She was essentially the same person that she had been the previous term, but Mildred could feel something else. The danger she could sense seemed to revolve around her, to feed off of her like a leech sucking greedily at her blood; the imminent danger of both Miss Hardbroom and her child was chilling, and Mildred knew that it was a ticking time bomb which could go off at any moment. She shivered involuntarily, a brief shudder as she dared to think for a moment of what such a danger could mean.

'I still can't believe it.' Enid's disbelief interrupted Mildred's dismal thoughts and she was grateful; her deepest fears about her potions mistress were contained in a dark place which she could not bear to reside in for more than a moment.

'I mean, 'continued Enid, unaware of Mildred's discomfort, 'it's HB! Of everyone in the entire world, she would be the last person I would expect to have a child!'

'You have to feel sorry for the baby,' Maud added, 'she'll probably make the poor thing master potion making before it even goes to school!'

'I don't know, she might be a good mother,' Mildred muttered, feeling for some reason which she could not deduce uncomfortable at speaking about things so private to their potions mistress.

'But what I don't get, is how on Earth it happened,' Enid pondered.

'What do you mean?' asked Maud.

'Well,' Enid explained, 'we all know what it takes to make a baby. But who in their right mind would want to, you know, with HB? It just doesn't bear thinking about.'

'Stop it, just stop it!' Mildred shouted, a little louder than she had intended. With such an outburst, Miss Hardbroom stopped talking and looked up at her in confusion. Enid pulled her along the corridor by her sleeve until they were out of sight.

'Since when have you felt the need to defend HB?' Enid hissed at her.

'I...I don't know,' Mildred replied truthfully. She was astounded by her own behaviour, particularly towards a woman who she has felt nothing but contempt for until a few months previously.

'I just don't think it's right to talk about her like that; we don't know anything about her situation, and if you ask me she doesn't seem too happy about it either. Have you seen any men even talking to HB? Think about it for a moment: if the father isn't around, then she's left on her own to bring up a child and we are making fun of her. Doesn't seem very fair, does it?' There was an awkward moment of guilty silence which hung uncomfortably in the air. Enid knew, of course, that Mildred was right, but it had only been a joke.

'Fine,' she admitted, realising that it would be easier just to let it go, 'but since when did you become the morality police?'

They walked down to dinner, with Miss Hardbroom at the forefront of each of their minds though for very different reasons.

Xxx

That evening, when darkness had finally fallen, Constance walked into the staffroom and, upon seeing that she was alone, collapsed into one of the chairs. Just standing up all day had become a task her body was not willing to do without great effort and she wanted nothing more than to go to bed; having managed so far to avoid the other teachers, she feared that this was not going to be possible.

Soon enough, Miss Bat and Miss Drill walked into the room and Constance adjusted her posture so that she looked neat and straight as she always did. She suppressed a smile as she watched them try not to stare at her stomach, bracing herself for the unnecessary fussing which she could sense would plague her until she finally found the time to retire.

'Do you want a cup of tea, Constance?' Miss Bat asked her within seconds.

'No thank you Davina, I am fine,' she replied, as though asserting the fact that her authority had not and would not change due to her pregnancy.

'Or a glass of water?' Miss Drill offered with a kindness not befitting of the tumultuous relationship she shared with the deputy headmistress.

Constance sighed. With some difficulty, she rose to her feet and turned to her colleagues.

'Allow me to make this perfectly clear,' she stated, 'I will not allow anyone to fuss over me just because of my condition. I am, and will hopefully remain, perfectly alright and persistent questions concerning my health will only serve in making me irritable and angry. I am capable of everything that I always have been, and wish to be treated no differently because of my situation. Is that understood?' She spoke as though she was speaking to her pupils, but both Imogen and Davina knew that to question the hint of condescension in her tone was to lead to a fate worse than death. They both nodded at once and began busying themselves with anything which meant they could avoid eye contact with the strong-willed deputy headmistress.

Satisfied, Constance moved over to her desk and began casually going through the end of term reports she had written some weeks ago in preparation for the first lessons in the morning. It was a menial, laborious task but it took her mind away from the fears and worries which sat constantly in her head like parasites eating away at any positive thoughts.

Not long afterwards, Miss Cackle walked in carrying an empty coffee mug which she proceeded to fill up at the urn. She greeted her colleagues with a tired but pleasant smile and was forced to restrain herself from inquiring as to Constance's wellbeing; she knew by now, after many reprimands, that this would only end up as another argument. The mothering instinct inside of her wanted to ask whether she had eaten, as she suspected Constance hadn't, or to make sure that she was truly in good health; but with the deputy headmistress anything less than caution was to push her further away, the last thing that she needed at such a trying time.

Constance was halfway through the second years' reports when she felt a sharp pain radiate across her stomach. She stopped herself from reacting, her hand daring only to twitch in the presence of others. It was not considerable pain, a brief second of discomfort followed only by an ache, but it was the fear which accompanied it which made her mind race. Waiting to see if anything else would happen, Constance listened to the frantic beating of her heart in her chest; it was as worried as she was. A whole minute passed and nothing seemed to happen, so she continued with her work trying as best as she could to forget that it had ever occurred.

Unfortunately, the ability to forget was a luxury in which she could not indulge. A few minutes later, another pain shot like a bullet across her abdomen and she bit her lip to suppress a gasp, unable to stop herself from bending ever so slightly forwards in response.

Amelia's eyes darted towards Constance as she saw, from the very corner of her eye, the smallest of movements. The others didn't seem to notice, but she was not ashamed to admit that she was watching out for the younger woman with her protective instincts taking over. Her face was pale, shining white against the dark silk of her dress and her eyes were not as emotionless as they always seemed to be; she was frightened, and this in turn set the headmistress' heart racing. If Constance was scared, there was good reason for her to worry.

'Constance?' she asked tentatively, 'are you alright?' For a moment, Constance considered answering honestly, but she knew in her heart that she couldn't allow everyone to know that she was weak; she was just too proud.

'Fine,' she lied, though less than convincingly, 'I'm just tired, I think I might retire early. Goodnight.' Without giving the headmistress a chance to reply, she folded her arms and disappeared from the chair.

Miss Drill looked up at Miss Cackle with a curious stare.

'What is it?' she asked.

'I don't know,' Amelia replied honestly, 'but if I did believe that she was fine I would be a very misguided witch indeed.'

Constance materialised on her bed and let out a groan. Her body ached, mostly her swollen abdomen, and she lay down changing into her pajamas with a careless flick of her wrist. She placed her hands on her bump and felt her daughter kick back at her, gentle but certain, and despite everything Constance could not help the smile which broke out over her face. She was fine, that was sure enough, but the nagging doubt that something else was wrong plagued her darkened dreams as she drifted off to sleep cradling what would soon be her baby girl.

Xxx

The next day, in the earliest hours of the morning before the sun had even begun to break the darkness of night, Constance left her room with a dark travelling cloak covering her shoulders. She lifted its hood to cover her head and hide her face as she slipped in silence through the castle gates and into the unprotected regions of the forest.

Xxx

Miss Cackle had been sitting at her place before the roaring fire, lost in thought for over an hour before Miss Drill returned from her morning jog. Her cheeks were tinged with crimson, but her face was bright and cheerful in a way Amelia knew that she would never understand.

'Morning Miss Cackle,' she greeted her, walking to collect her water from the shelf across the room. Amelia only raised an eyebrow in acknowledgement, and Imogen decided to press further.

'Is something wrong?'

'Not wrong exactly,' confessed the headmistress. 'I'm probably just worrying about nothing.'

'What is it that you're worried about?' Imogen asked, her voice the epitome of understanding as that of someone ready to listen to any problem with a sympathetic ear.

Miss Cackle sighed heavily.

'It's just Constance,' she admitted, 'I think that something might be wrong, but she's too damn proud to admit it.'

'Wrong...as in wrong with the baby?' inquired Imogen, suddenly alarmed.

'Yes,' Amelia explained. 'Yesterday, she went as white as a sheet her hand was shaking. I know it doesn't sound like much, but for Constance-'

'I know what you mean,' acknowledged Miss Drill, thinking for a moment.

'And she's not here,' Miss Cackle added.

'What do you mean?'

'I mean, she must have left the castle this morning. I don't know where she went, but she asked Miss Bat to cover for her at breakfast and her cloak is gone from the peg,' she informed Imogen, pointing to the empty hanger on the staffroom wall.

'Where can she have gone?' Miss Drill wondered aloud.

'I have no idea,' the headmistress replied, _but I really don't think it's safe for her to be out,_ she added in her mind. There were so many things that she couldn't say, so many secrets which lingered in Constance's wake; Imogen sensed that Miss Cackle knew more than she was letting on, but decided against pushing her too far.

'I am sure that she is fine,' she reassured the fraught headmistress, 'but the only way you're going to get a straight answer is to confront her yourself. She's the strongest, most stubborn woman I have ever met though I suspect, at the moment, that she is weaker than she is letting on.'

Xxx

Constance was gone throughout the morning, reappearing only after assembly to teach her first class of the day. She managed to avoid Miss Cackle, as though she could sense that questions were waiting to be asked, and kept very much to herself.

That evening, she walked into the vacant staffroom to collect her work before retreating to her room when the headmistress entered behind her. Constance turned on her heel to face her, opening her mouth to make excuses when Miss Cackle held up her hand to stop her.

'Constance, please don't lie to me,' she asked gently. Constance looked confused for a moment, before finding the right words in her startled mind with which to answer.

'I don't know what you mean headmistress,' she said, though her sparkling brown eyes told a different story, one far darker and plagued with insecurity and fear.

'Oh I think you do,' Amelia assured her. 'It's me, Constance; you don't have to pretend that you're something that you're not. You are allowed to be something other than perfect, I'm not going to judge you, but you cannot tell me in all honesty that you are alright.'

Constance tried to reply with the same dismissive demeanour she would normally have used to brush off such questions of her character, but words seemed to evade her. She attempted to concentrate her thoughts, to draw her focus and assure her closest friend that nothing was wrong, but she could feel perspiration building on her forehead and her breathing becoming quicker and heavier.

She knew what was going to happen before it did. The pain was no longer a shooting glance, a cloud which passed in seconds across the waning moon, but a merciless attack on her body which almost brought her to her knees. Constance allowed a rasping cry to pass across her trembling lips as she doubled over, her hand flying desperately to where her unborn child lay as she fought to keep herself from the ground.

Amelia ran to Constance, panic coursing like deadly cyanide through her veins as she put her arm underneath the younger woman's and stopped her before she fell, supporting her weight. Helping her to the closest chair, tears prickled Miss Cackle's eyes as she was forced to listen to the terrible sounds of a woman in agonising pain; at that moment, there was nothing she would not have done to help Constance, even sold her soul to the devil himself without a second thought.

The pain would not subside and Constance could do nothing to stop her body from shivering as it suffered the shock of searing agony. She felt tears in her eyes but she refused to let them triumph; too many tears had already been shed for her. Raising her head, she caught Amelia's gaze and watched as the headmistress' eyes overflowed, water spilling down her cheeks; she couldn't hide the pain in her eyes anymore, nor could she hide the truth.

Kneeling before Constance, Amelia put her hands on her deputy's; they were colder than ice, shaking uncontrollably like leaves startled by a bitter wind.

'Constance, please,' she begged, her voice cracking as she felt hot, fresh tears against her cheeks, 'please just tell me.'

'I-' Constance began, but before she could answer a fresh wave of pain crashed through her body and she doubled over once more, this time unable to prevent a blood curdling scream from piercing the air. She tried to breathe, tried to calm her racing heart but it was a new kind of pain, senseless yet meaningful and so bittersweet.

'I...I'm going to get t-the doctor,' Amelia choked, rising to her feet and making to leave.

'No,' Constance managed, her voice no more than a whisper, grabbing with what little strength she could find onto Amelia's sleeve.

'Don't be ridiculous, there isn't time for you to be all high and mighty. Your daughter could be in danger!'

'She...she isn't,' Constance croaked, trying and failing to breathe the pain.

'How can you know that?' asked Amelia, almost shouting through the frustration. She knew Constance to be stubborn, but when lives could be at risk she had never anticipated such ridiculous resistance.

'I saw the doctor.'

'When?'

'Morning,' Constance had lost the will even to finish her sentences, the effort too much as it became harder and harder to draw breath. She closed her eyes for a moment, concentrating solely on breathing. As long as her little girl was inside her, she had to keep her heart beating; her heart beat for her daughter alone.

Amelia allowed Constance a moment. For the younger woman to have gone to the doctor's, to seek help, it must have taken Constance more courage and will power than anyone would ever know. She realised how much this child must mean to Constance, how much she was willing to sacrifice for her, but also how grave the situation could be.

Waving her hand and muttering something inaudible beneath her breath, Amelia produced a cup of water and gave it to Constance who accepted it thankfully. She took long deep gulps, hoping that the water would at least numb some of the pain which now seemed to command her body. Though she still felt as though she could fall into an endless sleep at any moment, Constance managed to ease her breathing enough to open her eyes and talk in a more coherent manner.

'What did the doctor say?' asked Amelia gently, her voice soft and smooth like the silk of Constance's dress.

'She said that the baby was fine,' Constance explained, 'it's just her magic.'

'What do you mean?' Amelia inquired, her confusion written in the expression she wore.

'On the very rare occasion that a child begins to discover its magical ability before it is born, it can sometimes give off bolts of energy without meaning to. She has no control over her power, so there's nothing that can be done. Usually it happens in the last few days of pregnancy, but this was hardly the most ordinary of conceptions.' Constance stopped for a moment to catch her breath.

'She's powerful, Amelia, really powerful; God only knows if that's why Hecketty wants her. They could take her magic, contain it until after she's born; but it might hurt her so I wouldn't let the doctor do it,' she explained, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Amelia took a second to take it all in.

'So what can they do about this?'

'Effectively...nothing,' Constance sighed, though her tone seemed too calm for a woman who was saying that she would have to live for months in agonising pain.

'What?' exclaimed Amelia, 'you can't be expected to just deal with this. It can't be good for your health, let alone anything else.'

'It isn't,' stated Constance bluntly, 'but if it keeps her safe then it is worth it.' The first genuine flash of humanity, of emotion and caring, was apparent in those words and Amelia felt nothing but love for the woman before her. She was risking pain, possible her life, to keep her daughter safe and it brought tears to her already moist eyes.

'We should write to the guild,' Amelia said finally, 'get them to send someone to cover your lessons.'

'No,' Constance replied sharply, her eyes blazing with insistence.

'What do you mean no? You can't go on like this and keep teaching; you need rest, peace and relaxation or you will not have the strength to...to defend yourself if the time comes.' Constance knew this was true, she knew it with too much certainty, but there was another truth which belittled her strength.

'You can't get the guild to send another potions teacher,' she told the headmistress with tears in her eyes.

'Why not?' asked Miss Cackle, verging on shouting once more as she battled with what she thought was Constance's ego; how mistaken she was.

'Because...because they'll send her,' Constance whispered. The name was present without even being spoken, like a dark presence lording over them without even the need for corporeal form.

Amelia opened her mouth in false reassurance, but Constance stopped her.

'Any excuse for her to keep an eye on me she will take without a second's thought,' she explained, 'And...and if she's here, then there will be no stopping her when the baby comes. She may be retired, but she has close contacts within the guild and you cannot deny that she will come. I can't let her come here Amelia I just can't,' Constance insisted, the gravity of the situation becoming clear to the headmistress as she looked into her deputy's pained eyes.

They didn't speak for a while, faced with an unsolvable problem which demanded an impossible sacrifice: risk a life, or put a life at risk.

'What are you going to do?' Amelia asked finally. Constance looked at her with the saddest expression she had ever seen, one of a woman who knew that she might die and had accepted it as truth and she knew the answer. Miss Cackle couldn't hold back tears of pure despair.

'Don't cry for me,' Constance told her, 'whatever happens, will happen. I decided a long time ago that I would die for my daughter and if I have to, then I will.'

'You shouldn't have to make that choice,' whispered Miss Cackle.

Nothing more needed to be said. The moon watched with a tear in its ancient eye, casting its eerie glow across the night in the absence of the bright sunshine. The stars twinkled, singing songs lost to the vast expanses of space which lay between the worlds, though their infinite beauty would never cease to amaze even after their death.

Only when the sky was dark would such beauty be forgotten, but the darkness was coming. The unyielding blackness was waiting to move and encase the universe in the night that would never end, the death of the sun and life as it had once been known.

Darkness was coming.

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><p><strong>Thought I might end on a happy note...or not XD Next chapter within a week...probably :)<strong>


	18. Chapter 18

**Bonjour everyone! Another chapter as promised...though slightly late, sorry about that. Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed! It really means a lot and I dedicate this chapter to you all!**

**Now, this was written in a day so bear with, as I couldn't leave it any longer. Enjoy and review if you wish! :)**

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><p><strong>Chapter 18<strong>

He saw the scenes pass by in flashes, like a broken film playing before his eyes amongst the haze that had taken over his mind. He watched a woman he did not truly know fall to the ground, heard her scream pierce the air; it was the cry of someone with so much to lose and who knew that she was losing a battle on which everything depended. He reached out, the urge to go to her and to help her unbearable strong; his heart felt her pain, such a deep and selfless pain. He wanted more than anything to take her away and keep her safe but his arms could not reach her, this dying flower he so longed to protect, and he was forced instead to watch her suffer.

The picture changed constantly: one moment there was a cosy room lit with a roaring fire, the warm orange glow on a cool summer night a symbol of safety and protection; but there was another place which would not be banished from the forefront of his thoughts. Even the walls were difficult to make out in the darkness, not the thinnest sliver of light from the silver moon allowed to pass through the barred windows. It was cold, the bitter chill in the air so biting that it nipped at the skin until it was numb; it was almost as if he was there. Water dripped slowly to the ground like teardrops mixing with a spatter of scarlet blood which lay on the stone floor, some of the many droplets which had been spilt without need and a small indication of things to come.

He watched in horror as tears ran down the woman's face, a face so pale that it seemed to have lost all of the life and energy that he was sure it had once held. She was pleading, begging between choked and agonising breaths though she knew that it would do no good.

He heard voices, ones of comfort and reassurance, but it was as though he could feel what she felt and see what she saw; she knew that she wasn't meant to live, that there was more than one life at stake and she was willing to put hers on the line. Their words, whoever they were, were meant with good intentions but could offer her no solace.

There was someone coming, someone with no mercy who would not only ruin lives but take them away just to get what they wanted. They were coming, raging with all of the magic that they could yield to bring down the meagre defences which held this tearful woman from what was surely her nightmare, what she had dreaded since the day...

Tom Woodstock jerked into reality with a start, his eyes taking a moment to adjust to the brightly lit office where he worked. He looked around, dazed for a moment after the anarchy that had controlled his muddled mind for however long whilst he had been sleep. His suit, tired grey in colour with frays decorating the sleeves, was crumpled from the way he had been slumped in his chair.

Rubbing his eyes, unable to shake the memory of sleep from his tired face, Tom mumbled beneath his breath whilst sitting up straight in his desk chair. His office was plain, the way he had lived most of his life so far; the dream which had been plaguing him for the past few nights was the only unusual thing to have happened to him since his dealings with the Witch Training College a lifetime ago.

'Good Morning!' A bright cheery voice announced a younger woman's presence in the room and Tom looked up in acknowledgement, though with a less than enthusiastic expression. Cathy Starling, one of Tom's colleagues in the Witch's Guild Department of Magical Education, had poked her head around the door and was smiling warmly at him with her wavy ginger hair bobbing on her shoulders.

'Is it?' Tom replied sleepily, his thoughts still jumbled and the sound of that poor woman's screams still echoing within his skull.

'Looks like somebody woke up on the wrong side of their desk,' Cathy laughed, the sound so full of happiness that Tom could not help but catch an infectious smile.

'Was there something that you wanted?' he asked, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms lightly across his chest. The smile which lit up Cathy's face faded slightly, her sparkling eyes just a little less bright.

'You drew the short straw,' she told him, her voice feigning light heartedness but her good heart was unable to lie convincingly.

'What do you mean?'

'Sally isn't in today and she was supposed to deliver the monthly report to the WTC,' she explained. Tom knew then why her smile had faded.

Sally Merryweather was the only person in the office who had to deal with the Witch Training College on a regular basis; she had been the only one who had not blatantly refused. If ever she was not at work on the day of every month that the report needed to be delivered then someone else had to do it, and now it was Tom's turn.

It was not just that the report had to be given to Mistress Hecketty Broomhead, who was well known for her harsh and demeaning manner, but for those who had seen the darker side of the WTC then visiting the cold and lifeless castle was a painful and saddening experience. When you looked into the terrified eyes of the students who were known to be taught by Mistress Broomhead, then it sent a shiver down your spine and you were left wondering in the darkest corners of the mind what they had to go through every day. Tom had managed, in the ten years he had worked for the department, never to meet with Hecketty Broomhead and now he was faced with the reality of a less than charming reconciliation.

'Tom?' Cathy asked tentatively, watching the colour drain from her colleague's face, 'Tom are you alright?'

'Yes,' he insisted, 'I'm just not looking forward to meeting Hecketty when I am not exactly at my best.'

'Not sleeping well?' she asked, moving further into the room with the soft features of her face warm with concern. Tom smiled and rubbed his forehead.

'How did you know?'

'Woman's intuition,' she whispered. 'What's bothering you?'

'Oh it's nothing really, just this dream that won't leave me alone,' Tom confessed. Cathy pulled a chair from the side of the room and sat across from him, inviting him to tell her more than he wanted to reveal.

'A dream?' she pushed gently, her voice smoother than the finest velvet.

'This...this woman,' Tom admitted, 'she's in serious trouble. I don't know who she is; well, I think that I recognise her in some way, but I couldn't tell you where from.'

'How is she in trouble?' Cathy inquired.

'Someone is after her; they want something from her and they will stop at nothing to get it. It was hazy I...I don't know; all I am sure of is that she was screaming, and I wanted to help her but I couldn't,' Tom disclosed, the memories fighting back and tormenting his mind with images of her.

'But...but it was just a dream, right?' she questioned, 'I mean, you don't think ...you don't think it could be...'

'Just a dream,' Tom said and smiled weakly, though he didn't believe it. Cathy smiled in reassurance and patted his knee lightly; in truth, she didn't believe him either.

Xxx

Carrying the documents in his arms Tom walked uncertainly through the darkened corridors; with each step the sense of fear, the sense that something was wrong, became stronger until it was stifling. He walked up to the door of Hecketty Broomhead, knowing exactly which it was just from the dark wood and the way the students hurried as they walked past. Tom couldn't explain why, but just outside Hecketty's office he stopped. He heard voices, drifting quietly from the room and something made him stop outside the door and listen. Tom stood, his heart beating hard in his chest, and waited to hear what he didn't want to know.

'We have to move quickly,' Hecketty's bitter voice said in a hushed whisper which could have silenced a lion's mighty roar, 'it is almost time.'

'But surely we have time yet?' hissed another voice, just as cold and callous as the black raven herself.

'I don't think it will be long,' Hecketty explained, 'and we need to be ready. This baby is everything; it's our future and the future of us all, so nothing must go wrong. We have to take her from the school with no fuss and no time for her to fight back; because we can be certain that she will fight.

'And of course everyone in that insufferable place will try to stop us, so we should move swiftly and with haste. I have a system in place so we will know when it has started and when to move; if we are clever enough, then we can subdue her before she has the chance to retaliate.'

Tom's eyes widened and his heart pounded at his ribcage like the call of a drum to war. There was a plan, a terrible plan to take a woman's child and he could hardly bear to listen, yet he could not bring himself to move away. He knew without the need to hear more that this plan was malicious, a plot which was never meant for his ears, and there was a poor woman somewhere whose child was in danger.

'You said that she was powerful,' the other woman said, 'what if we can't get to her in time? She could-'

'She may be skilled, though now she's weakened and vulnerable and I taught her everything, so I know what she is capable of. Yes, yes she is very powerful, more so even than she realises, but if this is done correctly then we can take her baby and she won't be a problem; Constance Hardbroom is not going to stand in my way,' Hecketty insisted, with a despicable hint of joy dancing beneath her callous tone.

Suddenly, it all made sense. Constance, little Constance, the girl he had watched suffer at that bitch's hand all those years ago and the girl he had tried in vain to save was now at her mercy again. A young man, a powerless fool, had tried to take her away from the pain he had seen in her eyes, the endless pain which lived beneath her fragile skin; he had thought that he could be her knight in shining armour and save her, but he was being naive. He couldn't fight her then but he had to try now, for Constance's sake; it wasn't just her life at stake now, but her unborn child's.

'And what do we do with her afterwards?' Tom could swear that he heard Hecketty laugh, a cold snigger which barely made it past her cracked and deceitful lips.

'I would have thought that was obvious,' she hissed.

And then, Tom heard it all. He heard the fate that would befall an innocent child and a vulnerable mother, how a woman who was given the responsibility of teaching could cause such destruction to two lives which never asked for chaos. They didn't deserve it and as Tom walked away, as he ran away, he dropped the papers; he was running from the truth. He had to do something, anything, to warn her and try with everything he had to save her. He had failed all those years ago, a decision which had played on his mind ever since; but now he could put it right. Tom knew that he would never live with himself if he did nothing, if Constance...if the baby...it was unthinkable.

He left through the creaking iron gates, wondering how such evil could manifest itself in one woman and why anyone would take a fragile rose, already damaged from a life of hardship, and crush it in one hand.

Xxx

'Be finishing up now girls,' Constance announced to the class before her. She stole a glance at the clock on the wall and suppressed a sigh that it was not even halfway through the day. As everything became more difficult, each day seemed to pass more slowly than the one before and each minute crept along at snail's pace as though taunting her predicament.

Sitting at her desk she felt powerless, drained of more than just energy as she tried to ignore the persistent pains which had become like knives constantly stabbing at her swollen abdomen. Her body seemed to be learning to cope with the pain, however; every day Constance gritted her teeth and charged on, feigning ignorance to the sharp pricks of pain which would not leave her, and then at night she would suffer the worst agony life could throw at her before lying uncomfortably on her thing mattress, to be plagued by fractured dreams of the daughter she was never meant to have.

'I never thought I would live to see the day,' Enid half whispered to her friends as she finished casually stirring her deep red potion.

'What day?' asked Maud.

'The day when HB went soft,' Enid explained with a smirk, 'I mean, you can't say that you haven't noticed; we all have. Maybe she has finally realised that she can't be an utter bitch to everyone all the time; perhaps she realised that she can't raise a child that way.'

'It does make some sense,' Maud admitted, 'I mean, with the prospect of becoming a mother-' Maud ignored Enid's mutterings of 'God forbid'

'-I think she must have mellowed slightly. It could be the start of a brand new era for the academy!' Mildred turned to her friends with a quizzical stare. She looked for a second at Miss Hardbroom, at the melancholy demeanour which she could no longer hide from her tired and pale face, and knew that her friends were mistaken.

'No, that's not it,' she whispered.

'What do you mean?' inquired Enid.

'Well, some of what you're saying could be true,' explained Mildred, 'but I don't think that's the main reason why she's become...softer lately.'

'So what is the reason?' Mildred looked at Miss Hardbroom once more and tried to catch her eye, but was met only with a glazed expression and glassy eyes which were void of the power they had once held.

'She's...she's in pain, and she's lost almost everything just for the sake of her baby. She hasn't got the energy anymore don't you see? It's not that she doesn't want to shout at us, or to appear from thin air to catch us out, it's that she can't,' Mildred breathed, her voice just low enough to avoid detection by others.

'Either way,' Enid said in a blasé manner, 'it stops her from shouting at us. Why should we care?'

'Because...' stuttered Mildred, 'because if HB hasn't even got the strength to tell us off, then she loses who she is. Can you imagine a passive HB, one who doesn't smile but doesn't bite and just exists for the sake of existing? It must be killing her.'

'I can't imagine it,' Maud confessed.

'Nor me,' added Enid, 'but what is **it**? I mean, it can't just be the baby can it?'

'No...no it can't be,' Mildred pondered, abandoning the lilac potion she had been brewing to allow her thoughts to roam in the realms of speculation.

'HB is strong, she's powerful; it would take more than a baby to knock her off her feet. No, there's definitely something else, something darker; it's like I can feel it, like I can sense it or something.'

At that moment, the potion which had been bubbling ferociously in Mildred's cauldron spilled over and began eating away at the wood of the bench. She jumped back in shock, not sure how to react. When Constance saw the commotion she took a second to close her eyes and sighed deeply; why was it always Mildred Hubble? With a great reluctance, she heaved her great weight from the chair with some difficulty and raised her casting fingers.

Mildred watched, sure that a great fiery burst of energy would erupt from her fingertips and vanish the potion; but she was wrong. Miss Hardbroom lightly waved her casting fingers through the air in a circular motion which caused the potion to gently fade, shimmering into the air. To everyone's surprise her voice did not boom across the classroom demanding attention, but as the bell rang she simply told the girls what work to finish and bottled the potions with another carefree wave of her hand; she didn't even stop to talk to Mildred about her behaviour.

Enid pulled her friends out of the classroom.

'Right,' she said with conviction, 'now I know something's up.'

Looking back into the room when everyone had gone, Mildred saw Miss Hardbroom place a hand on her back and another on her forehead; she looked so deeply tired, more just than from the fatigue of carrying extra weight, and her face seemed to drain in colour as she assumed that she was alone.

_This woman is falling apart,_ thought Mildred sadly, but she tore herself away as her friends called to her and vowed that somehow, she would help her.

Xxx

Constance lifted her head up high, the feeling of defeat one she had never truly learned to accept. Everything ached, every bone in her body, and a strange powerful nausea was rising like fire in her throat. Yet still she pushed it to the back of her mind, refusing to believe that her body, which had survived so much, would fail her now.

Folding her arms, she concentrated hard and vanished, appearing within the stiflingly warm confines of a blissfully vacant staffroom. Constance tried to walk, but she had overestimated her ability and almost tumbled to the floor, grabbing desperately onto an armchair to keep herself upright.

_This isn't how it's supposed to be...this isn't how I'm supposed to be_

At the exact wrong instance, Amelia walked in humming tunefully to herself and jumped when she saw that she was not alone.

'Constance!' she gasped, 'I didn't see you th-' Her smile faded and she looked at how the deputy headmistress was bent double, holding onto the chair for support.

'Oh my goodness are you okay?' asked Amelia, dropping the letters she had been holding which lay forgotten on the floor as she grasped Constance's arm and helped her to stand upright.

'Don't,' Constance breathed as she tried to regain any of what dignity she had left, which became more difficult as pain burst across her abdomen and she bit down so hard on her lip that she tasted the bitterness of blood in her mouth.

Amelia helped a reluctant Constance into an armchair and pulled the other alongside, taking Constance's trembling hands in her own.

'Have you had something to eat?' she whispered gently. Constance shot her a look of pure disdain, more powerful than cyanide.

'It wouldn't matter if I had,' she replied bluntly.

'You have to take care of yourself; you're no good to your baby in this state' coaxed Amelia, 'I've never seen you so pale.'

'Don't...' Constance started, though she stopped to catch her breath, 'don't use my baby to make me feel guilty.'

'I'm sorry, I-'

'No!' interrupted Constance, her tone sorrowfully frantic 'It's not as if I haven't tried. The truth is that there is nothing that I can do! If I sleep I have nightmares, if I eat I'm sick and if I give up work then she will find me; tell me, what choices do I have?' Amelia had no answers; in this situation there were none. Tears filled her eyes and spilled across her quivering cheeks as she begged for a solution, for some way to save Constance from the horror film that seemed to be her life; she was forced to watch as her closest friend, the bravest person she had ever known, was drowning before her and she could do nothing to help.

'No,' Constance added, clearing her throat and regaining her composure, 'I have no choice, but it will all be worth it. I would do anything for her, you know, anything at all. I never...I never thought that I...' Tears welled in Constance's eyes as words failed her and even though they could not fall with honour they fell with grace and newfound pride.

'I never thought that I would see a day where I would care, let alone a day when I could love.'

Xxx

After sitting for a while, Constance refused any help and rose from the chair with a sizable groan.

'I wish you would cut back your working hours,' Amelia tried, 'it's only a month until the baby's born. It can't be easy for you.'

'It isn't,' replied Constance, one hand placed protectively across her great bump as she walked with the headmistress from the staffroom, 'but tell me, which girls would go without their potions lessons?' Amelia smiled and held up her hands, admitting defeat.

'I can think of some who would volunteer!'

It was a sound so simple, yet a sound which would come to mean so much; the echo of a knuckle colliding with solid wood in a desperate panic which rang through the castle's corridors with a resounding boom. A knock at the door which turned the deputy headmistress' head with such speed that her neck complained, and caused her heart to sink within her chest. Her mind went blank in fear of what she knew; it couldn't be her.

Walking with all of the dignity that she could muster, Constance strode to the door and opened it wide as her heart stopped dead for a moment; she was more than surprised when a tall, fair haired man fell through the door. His face was wet with perspiration, his suit torn in more than one place and his general demeanour one of a panicked rabbit waiting in the headlights.

'Constance,' he rasped, trying to catch his breath, 'you won't remember me. Tom...Tom Woodstock.' Somehow, from some unknown corner of her mind, Constance picked out the first and only memory she held of Thomas Woodstock and it played before her in her mind. He was the only one who had tried to save her, who knew what she was going through and decided that it shouldn't be so; she had feared him worse than vanished after Hecketty Broomhead's reaction.

'Wh-what is it, Tom?' she asked uncertainly, trying to stay focused as a fog drifted from nowhere and began to suffocate her mind and her body.

'Tom?' Amelia asked. Tom nodded and held out a hand which she obligingly accepted.

'I am Miss Cackle, headmistress of the school,' she announced.

'Pleasure to meet you Miss Cackle, I wish that it could be under happier circumstances,' he replied politely.

As they exchanged pleasantries, Constance felt an overwhelming sensation taking over her body. She backed away a few steps, both of her hands moving to protect her unborn child, as whatever colour had remained in her face drained and each breath became a battle.

'What is it that you've come about?' Miss Cackle inquired.

'Mistress Broomhead,' Tom explained, and upon seeing that the name was no more welcome than the woman herself he continued, 'I believe she wants Constance's child.'

'Yes,' Amelia agreed, 'we feared as much, though we aren't sure why.'

'I heard her talking in her office and she said something about it almost being time; I had to warn you, try to help-'

Tom stopped talking abruptly and looked at Constance who had backed up against the wall and was breathing far too slowly.

'Constance!' Amelia cried in terror, though she felt her body refuse to react as she tried to move to help. Constance reached out and took a step forward before she fell gracefully, her body despite its size seeming to flow with elegance through the summer air and her eyes closing as it all went black.

In the darkness which seemed never to end, Constance wondered if she would ever see the light of day again.

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><p><strong>Bit of a cliffie, hope you enjoyed! Next one will be up at some point soon :) Thanks for reading!<strong>


	19. Chapter 19

**Hello once more anyone reading! Sorry on delays to various fics, trying to sort them out whilst not die before exam results :S **

**Anyway will update others soon, just had to sort this chapter out as it was stuck in my head! I hope it is up to scratch, been a bit of a hectic write up and not much in the way of my usual style, so a bit of a risk lol.**

**Enjoy this slightly evil chapter (again, I love HB really!) and there will be more to come soon. Please review, I would like to know how this chapter goes.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 19<strong>

His body reacted instinctively, for which he would be eternally grateful as his mind could only look on in stunted horror as he watched Constance fall. Tom caught her just before her fragile body hit the ground and without thinking, scooped her into his arms like the bride she would never be. Her head rested against his chest; even with the palest of complexions he could see that she was beautiful. He pulled her gently closer until he was sure that she would not fall and he could feel the feeble thump of her heart beneath her dress; it was the greatest feeling he would ever know.

For a second the world was silent, no sound other than his breathing could penetrate the air. As he held her in his arms he dared to wonder of another life they could have had, a parallel universe where his secret love could flourish rather than live behind closed doors. Yet here and now he knew that this was a life that would never be, the dream that he had dreamt a thousand times yet which was only that: a dream.

What seemed like a perfect moment in spite of the horrors surrounding it shattered as he looked up to see the headmistress with her hand over her mouth, trembling like a leaf in the bitter wind as tears fell down her distraught face.

'Where is the nearest place we can take her?' Tom asked with immediacy commanding his voice. Miss Cackle gulped and tried to catch her breath, though this seemed harder than it ever had before.

'In...erm..in the st-staffroom, j-just there on the right,' she stuttered, taking a minute to try and calm down before she followed him. Why was it all going so wrong? Why couldn't life just leave her alone?

Xxx

Not for the first time that week, Mildred could not find the focus to concentrate in chanting class. Her mind was just too preoccupied to co-ordinate her thoughts in a productive way; the image of Miss Hardbroom with her head in her hands and clearly on the edge was just too powerful and too harrowing for other thoughts to dominate it.

As the others began the third rendition of Eye of Toad they had sung that week, Mildred subtly moved to the back of the room and slipped silently out of the door. Standing with her eyes closed and her back against the wall of the corridor, she let out a deep breath and tried to ignore the intense thumping of her heart against her ribcage.

Mildred wandered slowly down the corridor; anything to take her mind off worries which she knew did not concern her. It was only when she heard muffled voices talking quickly around the next corner that she snapped back into cruel reality, her heart and mind racing together once more. She edged nervously to the end of the corridor, ice running cold through her veins as she heard Miss Cackle sobbing and the voice of a stranger trying to comfort her.

With her hands shaking, she peered around the edge of the stone in time to see Miss Cackle fussing over a man who was holding an unconscious woman in his arms. Fear struck Mildred's heart as she realised; she knew the woman who wore the same black silk dress that she could see, who had the low heeled boots which were swinging gently as she was carried and whose abdomen was as swollen as the woman in this unknown man's arms was. It was her, Miss Hardbroom, being carried into the staffroom by someone with Miss Cackle trying not to break down into sobs as she watched on.

Mildred didn't know what to do, not even what to think. She only caught a glimpse before they disappeared behind the closed door, but that was enough for her world to come crashing down and the urge which had been lying within her to help her potions mistress surged like wildfire taking over the forests of her mind. She had to help, to talk to her, otherwise she would never forgive herself. She had know for too long that something was very wrong and even then Mildred felt a sense of urgency; time was running short.

Xxx

Tom laid Constance carefully on the closest armchair, with the gentle hand of a giant picking wildflowers without wanting to break a single petal. Amelia stood by the fireplace which now held no more than cold ashes; it offered no comfort anymore. She muttered a few choked words under her breath and raised her hand, turning away to hide her tears. Tom watched as the taught braided bun on the top of Constance's head began to unravel and her hair spilled gracefully across her shoulders, the shimmering waves the colour of jet a stark contrast to her blanched face.

He took her thin wrist in his hand with care for fear it would snap at the lightest touch, and pressed his fingers against her cold skin in search for a pulse. It was there, erratic and changing but there, and as he watched her chest slowly rise and fall, barely but surely, he allowed himself a small sigh of relief. Tom's eyes flickered for a moment to her pregnant stomach and his heart then skipped a beat; what if she lost her child? What would it do to her... or what would Hecketty do to her? The thoughts were too dark, too sickening to behold and he knew that they just had to hope that she was well enough to fight, because by now he was sure that she would have to.

They waited an agonising wait; minutes passed by like hours, dragging painfully on as the clock ticked time morosely away.

'Why,' Amelia asked in a quiet voice as she paced across the room, 'why won't she wake up?' Tom searched for an answer he did not have, trying to offer comfort when he was just as caught in the dark as she was.

'I don't know,' he replied honestly, 'she probably needs some time to recover.' There was a moment of silence as Amelia nodded her head and continued to pace.

'But...but what happened?' she questioned him, 'I mean, I knew she wasn't well this morning but this...' She trailed off and although Tom thought about interjecting, he knew that no words of reassurance would calm the headmistress. He could see it in her eyes, the way they couldn't look at Constance in such a state; it was the way that a mother could not bear to see her child in pain. Although the maternal bond was not of blood Tom knew that it was there, unspoken but strong, and it was killing Miss Cackle to see it frayed by an unknown ailment.

Xxx

It seemed like an age before Constance's eyes began to flicker, though it couldn't have been more than fifteen minutes. Amelia saw it first, the way her eyelashes began to tremble and her hand twitched where it was perched on the arm of the chair. Tom, who had been sitting with his head in his hands trying to think of something useful to do, looked up and felt his heart leap with irrepressible joy; he had never known that he could feel such intense emotions.

Constance felt the world rushing back with the feeling of falling from a weightless darkness, a place of uncertainty where nothing was clear and nothing seemed real; rushing with the wind through her hair, she crashed back down to Earth. Her eyes were so heavy that they took forever to be forced open, her entire body screaming at her to give in, to let go; she knew that she couldn't.

The dim light of morning burned as she finally opened her eyes and tried to move, though her limbs were too heavy and pained to respond. She could feel without the need for her eyes to work properly that there were others in the room; their pity was a poison she could sense uncomfortably warm against her skin, the feeling of eyes watching her every move with baited breath. A low moan escaped her lips before she could stop it and she fought with all her energy to lift her hand and place it across her stomach. Almost at once, she felt a feeble thump where her hand was lying; her little girl was telling her that she was alright, and for that she would be forever grateful.

'Constance! Constance are you alright?' The shaking voice of Miss Cackle breaking through the dull ache of her body helped to pull Constance's hazy mind together. Her eyes adjusted to the light and she saw Amelia with her expression the picture of concern, so many questions behind bright and pleading eyes.

'I will be fine,' she answered evasively, lifting her other hand with great difficulty to her pounding head where she used her fingers to lightly massage her left temple. She noticed in the corner of her eye that Tom Woodstock, a face she only vaguely remembered, was watching her with equal concern and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. She barely knew him, yet he must have carried her from the door and laid her in the chair where she now sitting uncomfortably; the sinking feeling of weakness seemed to take over her mind for a moment before she could dismiss it in an attempt to think more clearly.

'Don't give me that,' Amelia insisted, 'I've never seen you in such a way. How can I believe that you will be fine? How many times have I heard that, Constance?' Tom stood and touched the headmistress' arm lightly, a simple gesture to hold her frustration back without the need for words. Miss Cackle shook her head, her wiry grey hair moving across her face.

'I...I'm sorry,' she muttered as tears fell without permission from her tired eyes. 'I just don't understand what happened.'

Constance tried to meet her eyes in reassurance, but she could not assure her that she was as equally in the dark as the older woman.

'I never meant for this to happen,' she whispered, her right hand rubbing gently across her abdomen.

'I am sure that you did not,' Amelia said curtly, 'but you know why it happened.' Constance refused to lie but reserved her right to silence. Why did she have to press the matter? Of course she knew, she had known as soon as her knees had buckled and everything had gone black. She was not withholding this information to be a martyr, not to deceive or to lie; Constance simply knew that it would cause more harm than it was necessary to relinquish.

'You know,' the headmistress repeated as she sat beside Constance on the closest chair, leaning forwards so that she could look into her eyes, 'you know what happened, but you won't say. Why does it always have to be such a secret? I care about you Constance, I don't think any less of you for what you are going through, but I can't sit back and watch you suffer without knowing what is going on I just can't.' There was a pause, a moment of contemplation; Constance hated to admit to it, but she barely had the energy to resist any more.

'There's nothing that you can do,' she assured the older woman.

'Even so, you don't have to pretend that everything is fine Constance. You can tell me the truth,' invited Amelia. Constance could not understand why she would want to know, and knew that if the truth escaped her lips then she could never take it back. Though despite this, either way there was nothing to be done. Knowledge or ignorance; one way or the other it would all end the same.

'Fine, you really want to know?' Constance snapped, though her voice lacked almost all of its usual conviction. Miss Cackle nodded in response and leaned back to listen.

'I thought...I didn't think that it would happen so quickly,' Constance confessed. 'I thought I would have more time, weeks even before this occurred; I suppose that perhaps I hoped that it would not happen at all.' She let out a deep sigh, a sorrowful sigh of a woman who could barely take breath into her lungs without a fight.

'As I have told you before my daughter has already discovered her magical ability, though she cannot harness it at such a young age. Therefore, she can emit bursts of magic without meaning to which may, at times, cause minor pains.' Everyone knew that the truth was being stretched to such a length that it was unrecognisable as fact, though the pause brought no argument; it was not worth a fight at a time where a battle was already being waged.

'This force,' continued Constance with reluctance, 'acts almost like electrical energy. It is my belief that such frequent and powerful magic weakens the heart muscle, the electrical aspect of the energy causing an imbalance of electrolytes which has in turn leads to an arrhythmia. In other words-'

'Your heart...' Miss Cackle echoed in disbelief, 'you're...you can't...your heart?' Constance nodded slowly, though there was not even a trace of fear in her expression.

'The heart is strong, but it was never designed to withstand such considerable magic, especially when delivered in this way.'

'What does it mean?' Tom had been silent so far, sensing that he was a third wheel in an otherwise private conversation, though he felt that it was a question which needed to be asked.

He couldn't understand how she could talk about her fragile life as though it was someone else's, as if it meant nothing to her. Her world should have been crashing down, her tone fearful as she wondered whether she was strong enough to survive; but she spoke only the facts, as if they were the truths of another which meant nothing to her.

'It means,' Constance obliged, shifting slightly to look at him, 'that my heart is weak and it has an irregular rhythm. It does not put me in the best position, but there is nothing that can be done about it.'

'No, no that can't be right, we have to call a doctor,' Amelia protested, trying to be strong as rivers of tears flowed down her face.

'We can't,' replied Constance simply, closing her eyes and rubbing her temples more fiercely.

'Why not?' Amelia shouted. 'How is it that can you give up so easily? Your daughter's life could be at risk!'

'It isn't, she's fine,' insisted Constance, so tired that each word was becoming a chore.

'Even if she is, how is she going to cope if her mother is so ill? We have to do something.'

She couldn't say what it was, but something inside Constance snapped without warning.

'Why won't you listen to me?' she erupted with strength she did not have. 'We can't call a doctor; there's no-one we can trust, not now it's so close and there would be very little they could do anyway.' She looked down at her stomach for a moment.

'Do you think I haven't thought about her? Do you think I don't know what this means? I could die, yes, I accepted that long before all of this and as long as she is alright I would be happy to do so. Now if we can get away from this rather morbid subject, I believe that Tom has not yet had the chance to fully explain his reasons for coming.'

Constance turned to Tom and gave him a look which asked him kindly to change the topic of conversation. He wanted to shout in protest, yet he wanted to comfort her and through all of these bubbling emotions he knew that anything they could do would not change her mind. She was strong, though everything she had ever known was threatening to crumble and burn around her, and with whatever will and power she had left she was going to assert her authority and make her decisions clear. Tom looked at Amelia, who was still trying to keep it together, though it was clear that she knew where Constance stood; she was not budging.

'Well,' Tom started slowly, 'I went to deliver something to the college and I overheard her talking, Mistress Broomhead that is. She was discussing something about the time being close, about how they had to get ready for something to happen soon; then she mentioned your name.'

'But...but that can't be right,' Amelia interjected, 'Constance isn't due for another month at least.'

'Obviously she knows otherwise,' Constance admitted, her tone stronger than her heart which was sinking in her chest. Mistress Broomhead knew, somehow, that things were not going to happen as planned. She predicted her daughter arriving early, which means she was watching her and monitoring her...the thought send a cold shiver down her spine.

'They sounded like they were preparing for something, and I managed to hear some of their pl-'

'Miss Cackle,' Constance interrupted suddenly, 'what time is it?' The headmistress looked at her in amazement.

'What? I hardly think that's important right now.' Constance's eyes moved quickly to the clock mounted on the wall.

'Do you not have a class of first year students waiting to be taught various enchantments at the moment?' Miss Cackle opened her mouth to protest, but glancing at the time she had to agree that the deputy headmistress was right.

'I will be right back,' she promised, as she failed to find a valid reason to ignore the girls who had been waiting for almost half an hour. Constance nodded contentedly and breathed a sigh of relief.

There was a pause, a moment of silence as Tom tried to work out what she had done. His eyes caught her gaze. Deep brown locked with startling blue and he could see it, something he guessed that she never let others see; she was scared.

'I'm sorry,' Constance whispered, trying to hold back surprising tears, 'I suppose that I didn't want to face the truth. She's coming, that bitch is coming; I can feel it.' She looked deep into Tom's eyes, such vulnerability in a woman that had always had to be strong which was finally showing through the veil of deception she wore.

'I am guessing that you know, what she plans to do with us that is.'

'I heard her speak of it, yes,' Tom admitted.

'You can't tell Amelia,' Constance instructed him sternly.

'What,' asked Tom, 'why not? Surely she needs to know if she is going to try and help you.' Constance shook her head.

'She shouldn't have to know that, to bear the burden of knowing what is at stake; she knows too much already. I am aware of what could happen and I will do everything in my power to prevent it, but Amelia...she will only worry.'

'Does she not have a right to know?' Tom questioned gently, moving slightly closer. At first he saw anxiety in her eyes as he came forward, the same caution which had tainted her beauty many years ago; though in all this time, he was glad to see that something had changed. She was still fiercely protective, terrified that she would allow herself to get to close to a fire which would burn her, though she was starting to believe that someone could actually help her. He hoped, with all of the hope a man could have, that the newfound trust she seemed to be discovering would not be betrayed.

'Amelia cares about me, and I owe her more than she will ever know,' explained Constance warmly, 'but I don't need her to pity me. She will say that she doesn't, but her eyes never lie and I can already see it showing. I don't want her to have to know what she doesn't need to be troubled with; please, promise me that you won't tell her.' Tom was reluctant at first, though eventually he nodded in agreement.

'How can you know, know what she's planning, and not be scared?'

'Oh Tom,' Constance said with a small, sad smile, 'I am terrified. I always have been scared of her and I probably always will be, but I can't let anyone else know that. I am supposed to be strong and powerful; if people see me falling apart, then they worry and I don't want to be responsible for that.'

Tom let out a hollow laugh and touched her arm lightly.

'You are one of the most complex people I have ever met,' he confessed with a smile. She returned his gesture, resting one of her hands on his, though was surprised at the ease with which she could talk to him. His hand was warm, more comforting than anyone she had ever known. He knew more than she would ever tell and for once, she didn't have to pretend to be something that she wasn't.

He felt her warmth as he touched her arm, the gentle stroke of her hand on his like the touch of an angel. She wasn't as cold nor as hard as others perceived her to be; she was just a woman who had led a difficult life, and didn't need any more heartbreak. Tom's heart fluttered and for a moment his cheeks flushed. He had to tell himself that it couldn't happen, that there were too many things which set them apart in the world; he couldn't help himself. To him she was beautiful, a gemstone hidden amongst jagged rocks and her smile lit up the room as her eyes danced with a brief moment of happiness in an otherwise tragic existence. Tom would have sold his soul to the devil to give her a better life, somewhere safe for her and her daughter, but something told him that her fate was sealed no matter who tried to help her now and he suppressed a shudder.

Xxx

Miss Cackle returned moments later and Constance broke away from Tom's reassuring hand.

'They are busy for now,' she announced. 'I'm still not quite clear on what Hecketty's plans are.' Tom shot a quick glance at Constance, whose eyes assured him not to panic.

'All we know is that we may not have as much time as we anticipated,' Constance explained. 'We need to start putting protection around the castle, creating some sort of warning system and a defence mechanism to buy us time if she decides to turn up.'

'Can we not ask the Guild to provide some sort of enchantment?' inquired Amelia.

'No,' Constance said shaking her head, 'no she has too many ties with the Guild. We would be playing right into her hands if we contacted them. We will have to do it ourselves.'

'What did you have in mind?' asked Tom.

'I have a few potions which I can brew tonight, but until then we will have to make do with whatever enchantments we can think of. She will probably be able to break through them without too much trouble, but they should slow her down and if we can put an alarm in place to warn us then we might just be able to get out of here in time,' Constance instructed them.

'Right,' Amelia said, nodding her head slowly, 'we should start as soon as possible.'

Constance placed her hands on the arms of the chair and tried to summon the strength to rise, though she could barely raise her body a few inches before it screamed in pain and told her to stop.

'Constance what are you doing?' Amelia asked, horrified.

'Well not to be arrogant,' she replied, 'but I am rather powerful.'

'You can barely stand up!' the headmistress protested.

'Yes, but it's our best chance. I'm not going to sit here whilst Hecketty Broomhead breaks into the school and terrorises the girls. So, is someone going to help me up?'

There was a moment of considered argument, though Tom moved to help her stand after a few uncomfortable seconds. She took his arm and heaved her great body from the chair, ignoring its cries of protest at such movement. Constance tried to move with grace and dignity as they walked slowly outside, but she found every step a punishment and her head more than anything was causing an agony which taunted and muddled her mind. Her chest seemed tight, every movement so tiring and every breath a curse; it was as though she would never regain her wavering composure and stand tall and proud as she once had. That thought was more painful than the agony which seared through every cell in her body.

Once outside, Constance looked into the distant sky and noticed the clouds had darkened since the first light of morning. The sun had dipped below a sea of grey, the cerulean blue of the morning air tainted and fading into unprecedented darkness. The rumble of thunder was more of a call to war than a simple act of nature, the trees shivering in fear rather than from the cold which was descending like a mist and engulfing the forest and the castle.

'It's her,' she whispered with certainty.

'How can you be sure?' asked Amelia in a hushed tone. Tom noticed Constance lean slightly more into his shoulder and he squeezed her arm gently for comfort.

Constance nodded.

'It is her, it has to be. This weather, it isn't natural; there's something powerful causing it and I can just sense that it is her. We have to be quick. Use any and every spell you know; Tom concentrate on some sort of alarm spells if you can.' Tom nodded in reply and unhooked his arm from Constance's to wave his hand and conjure a wizard's staff he had not had cause to use in far too long. Constance raised her arms to the air and closed her eyes, channelling the magic coursing through her body into her casting fingers.

She muttered words as she cast for the first time in her life, fearing that if she didn't she would lose all control and fall once more to the floor. It was overwhelming, the power of her magic flowing through her fingers like the rush of river water and enlightening the dark sky with brilliant colours, deep red and striking green with every shade in between. The energy formed a barrier like a bubble which surrounded the castle before seeming to fade, the beautiful merge of colours shimmering like diamonds until the sky was dark once more.

She cast three of these powerful energy bubbles, which each in turn became invisible, before the almost numbing ache in her fingers caused her to stop. Constance stepped back putting a hand to her pounding forehead and felt her legs become weak beneath her again. She wobbled, threatening to fall until she felt a gentle hand seize her right arm and hook it round another's neck. She looked up at Tom, his smile telling her that he would always be there to catch her, though couldn't find the words to thank him. Her eyelids were drooping, pulling her eyes closed though she fought until they were opened again. The world was a blur, a mix of dark colours with shapes merging into one another and Tom to put an arm around her waist.

Wanting to avoid the embarrassment of walking through the school, Constance transported them both to her bedroom and permitted Tom to walk her to her bed where she lay down, her hair spilling across the pillow in relief. Her back moaned in thanks as she adjusted herself into a comfortable position and before she was pulled back into a deep and overpowering sleep, she parted her dry, coarse lips to mouth the truest 'thank you' she had ever given to another. She felt a warm hand slip into hers for a moment, the feeling like nothing she had ever experienced before, though after only seconds she was lost to the world.

Xxx

Constance was stood at a desk in a room without windows or doors, her hand trying not to tremble as she cut the last few roots into perfect cubes and sprinkled them delicately into the cauldron. She could feel the hawk-like gaze of her tutor burning into the back of her neck as her every move was watched and scrutinised. Her forehead prickled from where her hair had been forcibly tied into a tight bun which stood uncomfortably on the top of her head and she could feel perspiration tickling her forehead, threatening to run like the tears she was trying so hard to suppress down the side of her face.

She was eleven years old, too young to understand why she felt the need to be perfect and why if she didn't get this potion right she would be going back to her room in the cover of darkness, not emerging the next morning until she had found the right healing spell to enable her to face those she saw every day.

Stirring the potion three time clockwise then blowing the hazy perfumed smoke from the top of the cauldron, Constance checked the temperature with a thermometer and continued to stir for precisely a minute before raising her hands and commanding the bubbling pot to pour its contents into a large glass beaker on the table, which when full put a stopper on itself.

She could feel Hecketty Broomhead's eyes scanning the potion for a single discrepancy, her throat constricting as she waited for what could be her final judgement. Constance heard her walk around the table, though her face was hidden by the darkness which enveloped all of the room except for the table which had been lit by a low burning candle. Watching the candle wax drip slowly and harden on the oak desk, it was as though the last drips of time were running out for her. She would love to have said she had never been as scared, but this state of fear had been her life every single day for the past three years; she had started to wonder if it was killing her.

'You cheated,' came the coarse and brittle voice from across the table. For a moment, Constance was too shocked for words.

'N-no Mistress Broomhead, not at all,' she managed, her heart beating furiously in her chest. Her tutor took the still warm beaker of potion and poured a few drops onto the table, where from nowhere a small white ball grew to the size of a football and unravelled, revealing four limbs and a white furry face. A fully grown Persian cat with a soft fur coat of the purest white got to its feet on the table and stretched its new body, opening its bright yellow eyes for the first time which shone like glowing beacons. For a second a flicker of pride felt warm inside Constance, but she dismissed it as soon as it came; pride was something you never dared to show if you wanted to be treated with any decency.

'You liar!' Mistress Broomhead spat, throwing the beaker and what was left of the potion at the wall where it broke into a hundred thousand pieces and disappeared before the shards reached the floor.

'Honestly Mistress Broomhead,' Constance pleaded, 'I didn't cheat, how could I?'

'Don't you talk back to me!' she screamed, her voice livid and terrifying.' No-one can make a New Life Potion on the first attempt, no-one; especially not a small, useless, pathetic little girl like you!'

Constance didn't know what to say. She had never made the potion before in her life and she had certainly not cheated; with so much at stake every day, she would never dare to, though she could not think of a way to prove this to her tutor. Anything she said in her defence was seen as an attack, punishable by worse than shouting...far worse.

'This is more advanced magic than most witches will ever learn; am I expected to believe that an eleven year old managed such a potion? Am I?' Hecketty screeched, though beneath her facade she believed it to be true. She had known some of what the girl was capable of, other than what the prophecy foretold, though this seemed a step too far.

'I...I don't kn-know what to say,' Constance stammered, 'but I d-didn't cheat, I wouldn't.'

A second of deadly silence hung in the air like an unwanted stench. The cat purred softly, curling up on the desk as though it was falling asleep. In less than the blink of an eye, the cat vanished with an echo of the scream that never managed to leave its lips ringing after it was gone accompanied briefly by the sickening smell of burning. Constance held back tears and moved a few steps backwards, away from her tutor, though she felt Hecketty's hand around her neck and her body being pressed hard against the old woman's. Her neck burned as the breath was forced from her lungs, each choking rasp a cry for help that would never come to fruition.

She felt in that moment, for the very first time though not for the last, that she was going to die. Her lungs screamed for air, every cell in her body crying out for help and sparks igniting at her fingertips as a last defence she would never get the chance to administer. The world was suddenly becoming less vivid, her mind wandering into the inviting blackness which called to her from the depths of her soul. She stopped struggling, falling limp in the grip of her tutor which had been unyielding for an uncountable number of minutes.

Just as she thought she was about to leave the world she had come to detest, she dropped to the ground coughing with spatters of blood spraying across the cold grey stones as her stomach retched and her lungs fighting for any oxygen they could steal from the air. She lay down on her back her chest heaving quickly as she relished the feel of air in her body. Constance was seconds away from falling into a welcome sleep, when she felt energy coursing through her body and she screamed, opening her eyes wide to see her body engulfed in bright white light.

It faded quickly, though the pain seared like that of a flame long after it had gone and Mistress Broomhead walked to her, looming over her like a killer looking down on its pray. As a parting gesture, without a single word she placed her foot on Constance's left wrist and pushed down hard, feeling a sickening pleasure as she heard the snap of the bone against the screams of her protégée.

Hecketty twisted her foot and she could almost feel the waves of pain which would surely be washing over the young girl's body with unyielding force. Walking away without a word, satisfied that she had made a point though she was not sure what it was meant to be, she knew that if Constance could come back from this the next morning then she would be ready. If nothing else she would be stronger, and that would be a lesson in itself. As she left the room through a vanishing door, the flickering candle burnt out and the 11 year old girl was left in the dark and shrieking with the pain which would have defeated grown men.

Constance slipped into a dark unconscious slumber, waking deep within the night to find the door had finally appeared in the wall. She was barely able to stand, crawling most of the way with her arm nursed close to her chest. This was a day she would remember forever, a night she would never forget.

Looking up at the mirror in her room, the tears finally came though they were pushed back; there was no time for tears. The bruises on her neck were deep purple, reaching in the shape of a cold, cruel hand to below the top of her black dress and her arm had twisted unnaturally out of shape, the bone broken so badly that it pushed against the surface of the skin. There were cuts and bruises on her face and her legs shook dangerously to the point where she had to hold onto the basin for support; she changed, that night. This was a girl she did not recognise staring back at her, the marks of another tainting her fragile soul; not for the first time after years of living with her father, though never had they been so violently given.

The next morning she walked out, her wrist in a small cast from where she had 'fallen' and her face the picture of perfection. No-one knew, no-one would know, but they all suspected. It was the look that lived in her eyes from then on, the steely gaze of a strong and uncompromising woman in the eyes of a child; that was not where such a look should lie.

Xxx

Constance was shocked back into the waking world, her chest heaving and sweat dripping down her face as she fought back the terrible memories of the dream which had interrupted her slumber. She brushed her hair from her face as she sat up, not quite able to catch her breath which reminded her chillingly of the fight she was still facing in reality, let alone the one in her dreams.

Standing uncertainly, she used the wall to steady herself and cradled her bump as she walked over to her desk where she sat heavily and took a moment to breathe through the aches which had followed her from her memories. Constance thought for a moment, deeply and sadly, before taking a pen and beginning to write. With each word she shed a tear, her free hand stroking where her child was lying within her and the only words she spoke were to her daughter. She wondered if she would ever get to say the words she had never spoken to a person before:

_I love you, do you know that? One day I will tell you in person, I have to tell you_

Xxx

The sound was great, the boom like drums which shook the castle and the shrieks which followed the unmistakable cry of an alarm ringing throughout the corridors. Constance's head snapped up and she wiped the tears fiercely from her eyes; there was only one woman who could trigger that alarm.

'_I'm sorry, I'm so sorry'_ she whispered to her unborn child as she rose from the chair and, with great difficulty, began to walk to the guest bedroom where she knew that Tom would be sleeping.

After what seemed like an age, she reached the door. She could hear chaos beginning to ensue, girls waking to the sound of an ominous alarm and crying out in fear of what was happening. Constance knew that she would have to go to them, to make sure that they were safe before she could slip quietly away and hope beyond hope that she was not followed.

Knocking on the door with haste, she waited for Tom to answer her distress. She willed him to hurry, though she heard no sounds of movement from the room and knocked harder; it was only when she noticed the pool of blood which was running through the crack between the stone floor and the door that she realised something was wrong. Her heart stopped beating, the sounds of everyone else in the castle beginning to panic a distant memory as she raised her hand and unlocked the door with a flick of her wrist. It swung open, a thin trail of sparkling scarlet blood leading into darkness where unknown horrors lay waiting.

With another muttered spell, the oil lamps in the room lit and Constance put her hands to her mouth, staggering backwards until she collided hard with the wall. Sliding down until she was sitting on the floor with her knees as close to her chest as her abdomen would allow, Constance screamed. It was a sound which broke through all others, a harrowing cry which was heard by everyone in the castle.

The room seemed to glow bright red, the light of the lamps showing a body twisted on the floor.

Thomas Woodstock was dead.

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><p><strong>Another small cliffhanger :) More madness and chaos, death and destruction so to speak up soon and seeing as this was the longest chapter I have EVER written...a little review perhaps?<strong>


	20. Chapter 20

**Ok, I cannot deny that the time between this and my last post has been somewhat longer than I anticipated. Sorry everyone! I could come up with a wide range of excuses, but I shall put it all under the vast category of life getting in the way. **

**Hopefully, other chapters won't be as delayed now I have things slightly more balanced and the forward momentum of a storyline on the crux of climax, so if you would kindly bear with me :) I can't say it will be weekly, or daily, but I will try as hard as I can not to leave it as long and aim for at least a chapter every 2/3 weeks (does NOT help that I am away next week! Will try and at least start the next one before I go...)**

**Cookies and cake and everything lovely for those who read this despite my idiocy and, though I am as usual not 100% pleased with it, hopefully it won't disappoint and there is more to come. Thanks for the patience and I will not under any circumstances abandon this again! **

**Thanks as usual to all who have reviewed so far, these chapters are for you all!**

**xxx Enjoy xxx**

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><p><strong>Chapter 20<strong>

For what seemed like forever, nobody came. It could have been an hour a minute or second, but there was a moment of darkness. As Constance sat in the corridor she felt like the only woman in the world, scared and alone with no-one coming to save her from the most terrifying depths of the unknown. Constance felt as though her mind was detached from her body, watching as she dragged herself across the cold stone floor until her hands could cling to the wooden doorframe and her eyes were forced to take in the unbearable sight once more.

Tears stung at her eyes as she thought of the bitter twisted woman who had now taken another life; such a cold and soulless dragon who took her prey with no mercy just because she could. The heart which had been thumping weakly behind its cage of bones sank as the thought she couldn't bear to accept echoed in her mind:

_It's my fault he's dead._

She knew that, had it not been for her, Tom would still be alive. There were things that she could have done to prevent such an awful tragedy; she might as well have cast the spell herself. Looking down at her hands, Constance saw the unyielding stain of the blood of the only man who had ever cared, who had ever dared to question what others had simply ignored.

Constance sat in muted horror, not sure whether to look at the man she had wanted to know or the hands marred by his blood; either was just a painful reminder of what she hadn't done to save an innocent man. Her mind seemed to stop, unable to process what was going on around her and unable to accept that someone who could have been a friend was now gone.

Xxx

Amelia's eyes snapped open as the terrible sound rang through the halls of her castle; the sound of thunder and darkness, of a battle coming too soon and an enemy too uncompromising to defeat. She had fallen asleep uncomfortably in her chair, though everything else seemed superficial as she tried not to give in to panic.

Her mind went first to Constance. The deputy headmistress would know, as soon as she heard the sound, what it meant and Amelia could almost feel the terror which would set in. Constance was never one to show her fear, to let it be known that she needed help; the headmistress had come to realise that this was because she never considered her life to be worth worrying about, a thought almost too sorrowful to bear.

But now there was something greater at risk, something which meant more to Constance, far more, than her own life. It had taken a while, yet in these past few months Constance had become a mother; not just through circumstance, but through the maternal love and compassion which only a woman ready to have a baby could achieve.

Jumping from her chair, as through an electric current had shocked her into doing so, Amelia half ran from the room to be met with a sea of confusion. The alarm had woken the girls who had come downstairs, scared and disoriented, moving frantically through the corridors in what the headmistress guessed was any direction as anarchy set in. Across the ocean of girls, Miss Cackle spotted Miss Drill and Miss Bat fighting to gain control, though achieving very little. When they caught sight of the headmistress, they battled towards her in an attempt to discover what was going on.

'Miss Cackle!' Davina breathed when she finally stumbled towards the headmistress, 'It's chaos! No-one knows what is going on and I haven't seen Constance; she's not in her room.' The words hit Amelia like a sharp blow to the chest, but she fought her falling expression although she knew the sadness pervading through her eyes must have been obvious.

'The alarm means that she's here, Hecketty Broomhead is here,' Amelia explained. 'And we are all in danger.'

A fraction of a second passed by where each of the three women was thinking the same thing. They knew what Hecketty wanted, or at least who she had come for, and they knew that each moment of deliberation was a moment where she could try and seize it; that was, if she hadn't already.

'What do we do? I mean, if she's here...' Miss Drill asked.

'We need to get the girls out of here,' Amelia instructed her. 'Get them all to the hall and we shall work out where to take them from there when everyone is safe. You and Davina will need to sort the girls out. I have to find Constance.'

'But Amelia-' Miss Bat started.

'We know that she was here,' explained the headmistress, 'but we don't know if she still is. It's too early, not her time yet; I get the feeling that she might have just been watching to see how we would react; it's the sort of thing she would do. Either way I have to find Constance, but I can't do that and deal with the girls at the same time. Will you help me?'

It was a question which almost didn't need to be asked. Both women nodded at once and disappeared into the crowd, attempting to regain control of the school. Miss Cackle slipped through the waves of young, frightened girls and part of her heart seemed pulled towards them. It was her duty, her calling to help them; but there was someone else who needed her more.

Xxx

It took five minutes for Amelia to find Constance. Every movement seemed to take three times as long, each step taken as though in slow motion as the headmistress knew how critical time had become. She found her deputy outside Tom's room, on the floor with her ebony hair spilling across her shoulders and covering her face.

'Constance, thank God,' she gasped, 'I thought...' It was then that she saw the floor, glistening in the half light with scarlet blood. Amelia wanted to ask, but something compelled her to move slowly forward until she could see through the open doorway. The sight was worse than anything she had ever seen. It was grotesque, the room like an artist's canvas spattered in red and the innocent victim lying face down on the midst of it all.

For a moment, there were no words to describe it. It was beyond words, beyond emotion; it simply was. It was Constance who pulled Amelia from her disbelieving daze, how she sat there in silence with a look of awe and melancholy as her world fell apart. With a gentle hand, and met with such little resistance that tears sprang to her eyes, Amelia took Constance's arm and managed to pull her to her feet, taking her aside from the horrors of the bedroom.

'Constance...what-'

'It was her,' Constance whispered, a saddened breath almost lost to the persistent caw of the alarm. 'She did this...just to show that she could.' Amelia wanted to comfort her, to assure her that she was safe but, of course, she was right. Mistress Broomhead had killed Tom, someone who had betrayed her to help Constance, as a warning. It was a message which rang clearer than the never ending bells.

'It's all my fault.'

'No,' Amelia insisted, 'no of course it isn't! There was nothing you could have done.' Constance looked at the headmistress with a weak, watery stare so unlike the one she had worn for so long.

'Can you say that, if it wasn't for me, then he wouldn't still be alive? Can you promise me that no matter what I did, he would still be dead?' For a split second, Amelia marvelled at such a wise and intelligent woman, who had the answer for everything; unfortunately it was not always what people wanted to hear.

'He made his own choices,' she assured Constance, 'he knew the risks involved.'

'She's gone, you know,' explained Constance after a moment of silence, 'she will have left a long time ago.'

'How can you be sure?' Amelia asked.

'Because I know her,' replied Constance simply. She raised her bloodied left hand and muttered a few words beneath her breath, dispelling the almost unbearable sound of the alarm.

'There,' she said morosely, 'if she was still here, it wouldn't have stopped. She got what she wanted... this time.'

She had known, perhaps even before she had cast the spell, what the consequences of it would be. A sudden wave of nausea hit her as if from nowhere almost like a blunt force, ensnaring each one of her senses and pulling her into an agonising state of vertigo. Constance swooned, her legs no longer able to support her groaning body and had Amelia not caught her arm with gentle urgency she would surely have fallen like the last leaf of autumn to the cold wet floor.

Prepared to act as though nothing had happened, Constance tried to assure Miss Cackle that everything was alright, to answer that sad questioning look in her eyes, but she couldn't even find the strength to utter lies which were so yearned for. She tried to fight her own body as her chest became tight and each breath stole the last of the energy from her body; it was a battle she could never win.

Constance felt like a child - dazed and vulnerable, left to ask what she had ever done to deserve the pain which coursed like fire through her veins, tainting every cell in her body until they screamed for release, no matter what form it came in. Of course, she knew there was little point in asking why; she already knew the truth, the horrors of a human soul purged by greed and evil which would end her life and take everything she dared to love away.

As Amelia took Constance's arm and helped her to the wall, she felt the stiffened reluctance which she had come to expect from the deputy headmistress. She tried with all she had to stay calm, to hide the terror which flooded her mind like a tsunami of uncontrollable emotions. Constance's skin had drained of any colour it could have been seen to have, her pale face more than ashen but a woeful shade mirrored only by those beyond the help of doctors or medicine.

What worried her more than anything was how easily the once stoic, unyielding potions mistress gave in to allow Miss Cackle to help her. It was not something she did lightly, the degradation of frailty something Constance found insulting to her very character, and even now in the situation she found herself in it was hard for her to concede defeat.

Even so, even with an abdomen swollen with her unborn child and with the horrors of what she had been made to witness playing on her mind, Amelia could see that Constance's problems were far more serious than what she could see. The headmistress could almost feel Constance's mind working in overdrive, her muscles tensing as she tried her best to hide what she had not already given away. The suffering etched in her face as clear as if it had been carved in stone was plain for Amelia to see, but tears pinched at the corners of her eyes as she forced herself to wonder what pain lurked beneath the cracked and fragile surface.

'Constance? Constance what is it?' she asked almost desperately, refusing to let go even as the younger woman's hand clawed at the wall for support.

'Nothing,' Constance lied through wheezing breaths, 'I'm fine, it will pass in a minute.' She wished for nothing more than to be left alone, so that her heavy eyelids could pull her into the comfort of a dreamless sleep and perhaps, for one moment in what had now become her life, her pain would fade so that she could enjoy a blissful second of peace.

'If you expect me to believe that, Constance Hardbroom,' warned Amelia, 'then you don't know me very well at all. What happened? Was it the baby?' Constance shook her head lightly.

'No, no she's fine.'

'Then what?'

She wanted to lie. Lies were such beautiful ignorance, the safe and protective blankets which hid what no-one truly wanted to see even if they searched for it. The truth was that Constance couldn't find the energy to lie. Her heavy heart sank as she realised that she couldn't go on protecting the only person who had ever really cared for her, that she had failed to give the simplest of comforts to a woman to whom she owed so much. Constance had to wonder what it was that she had become.

'My magic,' she whispered sadly. 'Now that my daughter's powers are beginning to affect me more and more, even my own magic is turning against me. My body can't cope with that level of magical energy, especially when it activates as I cast.' Constance let a brief and ironic smile flash across her tired face.

'I worked so hard to be skilled, devoting my entire life to becoming the most powerful witch I could be...and now it's killing me.'

The words struck Miss Cackle like a bolt of lightning. She had always known, or at least suspected, that it could come to something so drastic though she had never allowed her mind to believe it. Opening her mouth to speak her thoughts were lost, suspended in the silent air with the echoes of those words: _it's killing me._

The world wasn't just. Amelia had always known this, but she had not seen such a depravity of justice so close at hand. As a headmistress, she had seen thousands of witches in her life some of whom were powerful and some who were not. Never before had she met someone so skilled, so dedicated to witchcraft that the older woman had felt envious of them; not until she met Constance. Even though she tried to keep people out of her life, away from her feelings, Constance had grown close to Amelia, particularly over the past few months. Miss Cackle had seen depths within her that nobody else even suspected, or ever had the open mind to imagine. She deserved recognition for the achievements she had managed despite the life she had been forced to lead, and instead she was being punished for sins she had never even committed.

If God was real, Amelia thought sadly, then he must have abandoned Constance. Why else should a person suffer such unhappiness, such turmoil and heartbreak in one lifetime? She was suffering, weak and in pain, with the only blessing acting more like a curse. No, the world was not just. If it was, then Mistress Broomhead would be the one to suffer. She would be the one in pain, the victim of her own bitterness and cruelty, with Constance left to live her life in peace; nothing was ever that kind.

'Is there nothing...' Amelia stuttered as she attempted to gather her scrambled thoughts.

'No,' replied Constance in a voice no stronger than the petal of a flower, but with the serious conviction of the truth, 'no there is nothing that can be done.' Taking a moment, Constance suppressed the urge to fall to the floor and managed to stand upright with a hand still wavering close to the wall. The pain was easing, as she had known it would, and although she felt so weak that unwanted tears dared to surface, she was adamant that nobody else need be troubled with her pointless problems.

'The girls will need to be told,' Constance said after some time.

'What do you want me to say?' The deputy headmistress thought for a moment and sighed.

'Tell them that the school is on alert but they need not panic, nothing more,' she informed Miss Cackle.

'And if they ask?' inquired Amelia, knowing that not one girl would stay silent when the sense of danger hung so freely in the air.

'Then say that something dark is coming, something which cannot be allowed into the castle under any circumstances and ask them to trust you.'

Amelia's eyes flickered to the trail of drying blood which led like a sadistic red carpet into the room where Tom Woodstock had died. For a moment, she felt guilty. It was as if he had been forgotten, his bravery merely in coming dismissed by a greater fear. He had been a good man, an honest man, who had been rewarded for his kindness with death. It made Miss Cackle's blood boil to know that Hecketty Broomhead had the power nobody should have: the power to choose who lives and who dies. It was a right that no-one was entitled too, yet she had taken regardless and Amelia hoped that she would pay for what she had inflicted on the world.

Constance noticed Amelia's eyes were drawn to the entrance to the room beside where they stood and knew at once that she was trying to figure out what to do.

'You go to the girls,' instructed Constance. Amelia looked at her with confusion in her glazed expression.

'But...but what about...'

'I will take care of it,' Constance assured her. It was not a task she would enjoy, nor even feel comfortable performing, but she felt that she owed it to him; the man that had tried to save her life on two occasions and had finally paid the price.

'You should be resting,' Amelia insisted shaking her head, 'you're still far too pale.'

'Amelia, you have to go the girls need you. All I have to do is seal the room to preserve everything inside it, something I can manage perfectly well on my own. I will go to the potions lab afterwards and brew something which should be a bit more effective in keeping Mistress Broomhead away, something to enhance the power of the force field to give us a better chance.'

Had it not sounded like the most plausible cause of action, Miss Cackle would have shouted the idea down immediately. She knew that it was the right thing to do; the girls needed her to be there and reassure them, leaving Constance to work as she always did to use her magic to save the day. They were two sides of the same coin, their strengths combining to form the perfect partnership; but Amelia could not shake the feeling that Constance needed her now even more than the students, no matter what she said. She knew that she couldn't leave Constance alone.

'I don't think-'Constance held up a lightly trembling hand to stop the older woman and took a deep breath.

'Please Amelia,' she almost begged in a tone which was far too fragile, 'you need to trust me. I know exactly what you are thinking, but believe me when I say that there is nothing you can do for me except to let me try and keep Hecketty Broomhead away. If not, then we have no hope...I have no hope.'

Reluctantly, and though it pulled dangerously on her heartstrings, Amelia conceded and left Constance in the darkened passageway. Allowing her posture to slump a little, Constance walked with one hand on the wall until she was close enough to the room to perform the spell. She needed to place a time lock on the room, so that when it was safe to inform the Guild of what had occurred then everything would be as it had been. Stealing one last glance at the man she knew she could have loved, Constance raised her arms and cast the spell.

Xxx

Mildred's mind was buzzing with a hundred ideas, though she couldn't seem to concentrate enough to fully comprehend each one. She was pacing at the back of the hall, Miss Cackle's words still playing over in the back of her head. Something was coming. She had felt it even before they had been told, as soon as the alarm had rung through the halls earlier and she had woken, confused and terrified, to find the rest of the school in equal panic.

It wasn't just a feeling, but a certainty; this was something to do with Miss Hardbroom. It was as though her body could sense the connection between the danger and her form tutor, and although she was not sure of how this was possible, it seemed clearer to her than anything else she had ever known. As soon as Miss Cackle had walked into the hall to the sound of frantic chatter and whispering which had enveloped the crowd like a swarm of locusts, Mildred could sense that something was not right. It wasn't just the preoccupied look in the headmistress' eyes, nor the fact that Miss Hardbroom was the only member of staff not present; it was a darkness, something which crackled in the air like live electricity waiting to spark and Mildred knew that there was more to the story than was being told.

'Millie, please stop pacing,' Maud asked her nervously, 'you're starting to worry me.' Stopping in her tracks, Mildred looked across at her closest friend.

'Sorry Maud, but I just can't shake this weird feeling. Something isn't right, and it has got something to do with HB; though what it is I have no idea.'

'How can you be sure?' The tone in Maud's voice was questioning, but Mildred felt a flicker of warmth as she realised: she believed her.

'I know it sounds ridiculous, but I need you to trust me. It's like I can sense it, something in the air which doesn't sit right, and I just know it has to do with Hardbroom...and her baby,' Mildred tailed off, thinking sadly of a child which she knew, without needing to know why, was in terrible danger.

'You need to relax,' Enid interjected. 'HB is the most powerful witch any of us have ever met. I am sure she is somewhere right now sorting all of this out; she can take care of herself. After all, what can we do about it?'

'I don't know,' admitted Mildred, 'but I'm not waiting around to find out. I asked you to trust me last time when I knew that something was wrong and I was right, wasn't I? This is the same feeling...only stronger.' She shuddered at the thought. Then it had been a nagging doubt, playing on her mind in the midst of rumours and contemplation. Now it was a force, strong enough to overwhelm her and pull her into doing something about it.

'I don't know why you care so much,' Enid muttered amusedly, 'it's not like you ever got on with HB anyway.'

'True,' Mildred agreed dreamily, 'but I feel...I don't quite know what it is I feel. Almost like I am supposed to help her, like its fate or something. Either way, I can't sit around and do nothing. She may not have liked me, but she was the only one who knew I could be more than the worst witch in the school. She dared to push me because she knew I could do it, and I am grateful. I suppose I owe her the courtesy of checking at least.'

Enid and Maud nodded slowly. They wished Mildred luck as she left, slipping quietly from the hall. Of course they didn't understand; she hadn't expected them to. They couldn't feel it, couldn't sense the darkness like a cloud ready to burst into a tumultuous storm; but they trusted her. Mildred allowed a smile to creep across her face. She must have sounded crazy, beyond belief even, yet they still believed in her.

Xxx

The eerie glow of the moon was beginning to break through the sea of darkened clouds behind which the great orb hid, waiting with the patience of someone enriched with wisdom through uncountable years watching over the silent abyss. Its light was kind, a comfort in the darkness and a beauty for all of those below to behold. People gazed at it in wonder, itching to understand and explore such an exotic majesty; little did they know that all of those years had turned the kindest heart bitter, and that the purest virgin white of the moon hid the undercurrent of malice.

Constance stood at one of the benches in the potions laboratory which had once been her sanctuary, hunched slightly over a softly simmering cauldron with one claw-like hand gripping desperately at the wooden surface. It was a simple enough potion to mix: difficult to be precise, but quick and effective for what was needed. Constance was under no illusions; they were vulnerable, open to attack at any moment with little resistance, but she had to try. She could never live with herself if she didn't try.

Her entire body complained, the weight of standing almost too much for her fragile frame. She cursed herself inwardly for not anticipating the effect casting a time lock would have on her already weakened heart. Constance wasn't completely sure how she was still able to function; the only thing she had left was a strong determination, and the anger at the thought of Mistress Broomhead spreading her callous cruelty to taint more innocent lives.

Constance's eyes darted to the locked cupboard at the back of the laboratory, small and no larger than a music box, attached to the wall in the very corner. No-one had ever asked, not that she would have given a truthful answer; it was the last resort hidden away for the darkest hour yet to come.

Heaving herself into an upright posture, Constance winced painfully as she began to walk towards the black box with her heart thudding through effort and adrenalin. It was almost admitting failure before the battle had even begun, but knowing in the back of her mind what it would surely come to she could not risk being unprepared. Opening the box with a wave of her hand and the muttering of a name yet to be given, the small door swung open.

Without warning, Constance's hands began to shake uncontrollably. She could feel her body failing, draining what energy she had somehow sustained so that she was forced to grapple at the wall and place a protective hand over her swollen stomach, preparing for the worst.

'Miss Hardbroom?' The voice was quiet, but even from a distance Constance could hear how the girl was terrified. She didn't need to ask who it was, that would have been a question for the naive; no, it was of course, Mildred Hubble.

With a swift, subtle movement Constance took the object from the box and stowed it out of sight, a secret undisturbed until the final battle. Stealing a moment to close her eyes, she breathed deeply through the pain which was reaching out from her abdomen like a long taloned hand taking hold of her body.

'Mildred Hubble...of course,' she said, her voice dripping with the irony of the situation. Mildred didn't know whether she dared to venture further, torn between her reluctance to be berated by her potions mistress and her concern for what she saw as a fallen woman.

'Are...are you alright Miss Hardbroom?' asked Mildred tentatively, trying not to notice the ashen pallor of her face or the way her hand gripped almost desperately at her protruding bump.

'I have been better,' Constance answered honestly. Taking one last deep breath she forced her heavy eyes to open and pushed herself upright so that her right hand only wavered by the wall. She looked up at Mildred and saw the innocence of youth, of someone yet to discover the cruelties of the world and horrified to see what true pain could look like.

Mildred's eyes wandered to the deep purple gown Miss Hardbroom was wearing and her eyes widened in shock.

'Miss...what happened?' Looking down at herself, Constance realised that her clothes were covered in droplets of Tom's blood and she had to hold back the tears which seemed to force their way so effortlessly to the corners of her eyes.

'Oh, nothing you need to concern yourself with,' Miss Hardbroom assured her quickly. 'Really, I am fine.'

It took only a swift raising of her hand and the deep purple cloth shimmered like amethysts sparkling in the midday sun, within an instant changing to material of the purest white. Mildred's mouth hung open for a second before she found the words she had been searching for.

'I don't know how you do it,' she admitted.

'What?' inquired Constance as admired her handiwork.

'Everything,' Mildred explained. 'You seem to be able to use your magic so much better than everyone else; even Miss Cackle can't do half of the things that you can.' She could have shouted at the pupil for prying or simply being where she shouldn't have, but Constance knew that this was no time for petty squabbles. She could sense genuine emotion from Mildred, strong and from the heart; it did not take her long to realise that she had come looking for her.

'It just takes practice, Mildred,' Constance told her, 'you will get there one day.'

'If only. I can barely do magic at all, let alone...miss?'

Miss Hardbroom had closed her eyes once more and as agony engulfed her in a sea of flames, she allowed a feeble moan to escape her lips. Her body was shaking, her legs unsteady as she bent double in an attempt to quell the consequences of using her magic so freely in her situation. Mildred moved without thinking and took her potions teacher's arm, guiding her to the nearest seat where she managed to calm herself enough to straighten once more. As Constance opened her eyes, Mildred could see the cloudy remnants of unshed tears and a glint of the purest fear; she had been right and HB was in trouble.

'I'm sorry,' Constance whispered as she tried to force herself to keep it together, 'you shouldn't have to see me like this.'

Mildred said nothing in reply. She couldn't deny that watching someone she had always had the upmost respect for struggle was hard, more than hard in fact, but she did not want to say how she truly felt: that she would do anything to help the deputy headmistress, as she owed her more than she would ever know.

'What's going on?' The question was so simple, yet the complete answer was a story which stretched back thousands of years. Knowing Mildred had looked for her in the midst of crisis, Constance decided that she owed her at least a fraction of this great and terrible truth, though she didn't think she could bear to tell anyone the entire purpose of her life; it was too unbearable.

'That potion,' Miss Hardbroom explained slowly, pointing to the still lightly simmering cauldron across the room, 'produces a force which repels anything or anyone who wishes harm upon this school or anyone inside it.'

'Miss Cackle said something before...She said that something dark was trying to get into the castle,' Mildred remembered. Constance nodded solemnly.

'You could call her a dark force, but she is better described as the epitome of evil,' Constance thought aloud.

'It's a person?'

'Yes,' Constance admitted, 'Mistress Broomhead. I know you have met her before, but you don't know what she is capable of...not the half of it.'

'What does she want?'

'Something she can never have, but will never give up the chance to take,' Constance answered vaguely. She looked into Mildred's deep brown eyes, surprisingly like her own, and saw the realisation dawn like the rise of the sun for a new day.

'Oh,' she said weakly, not sure how to react, 'oh she wouldn't, she couldn't...could she?'

'When Mistress Broomhead came to inspect the school, what did you think of her?' Constance asked.

'She was horrible,' Mildred remembered, shuddering slightly, 'she scrutinised everything and nothing was good enough for her; even you seemed nervous around her.'

'Mildred, I am going to tell you something that I have never told anyone else; I wasn't just nervous around Hecketty Broomhead, I was, and still am, scared of her. I have known her since I was a little girl all those years ago. She taught me everything I know and I know what she is capable of; far more than just closing the school. She takes whatever she wants to further her own causes, no matter what the cost and she will do anything to get it. I have never met anyone who so beautifully portrays the existence of pure evil,' Constance explained. 'What you saw was a shadow, the mask she wears so that nobody else knows what she can really do. I have seen behind that mask, and I wouldn't wish it on anyone else, not my sworn enemy.'

Her tone was constant, unwavering despite the power of what she was saying and the gravity of the situation. Mildred could see that she was giving away something that she never had before, letting her guard down by choice to impart some of the truths she had been burdened with her entire life. She was proud of Miss Hardbroom, who had forsaken so much of her usual facade to give her honesty; yet at the same time, it seemed like one of the last acts of the ice queen falling from her shattered throne.

'But...but she couldn't really do it, could she? She couldn't take your baby?' Mildred dared to ask, pleading to be told that everything would be fine and that she didn't need to worry; the look in Miss Hardbroom's eyes, so tortured and melancholy, told her all she needed to know and struck fear in her heart.

'I hope not,' replied Constance darkly, her thoughts flickering dangerously to a future she did not want to accept could be hers.

A painful twinge shot across Constance's stomach and she took in a sharp breath, biting down on her lip to keep herself from crying out. Mildred noticed at once, her heart beating wildly in her chest and her mind racing.

'What is it Miss Hardbroom?'

'Nothing,' Constance dismissed quickly, knowing too well that it was anything but. She stood, her legs threatening to fail her at first but managing to support her as she held the bench with a claw-like grip.

'Should I get Miss Cackle?' Mildred asked, trying and failing not to panic.

As another twinge, this one more powerful and almost blinding, followed the first Constance could not hide her severe discomfort. Her eyes darted to Mildred's face, which had turned sheet white in horror; another innocent caught up in the tangled web of her life.

'Is she still in the hall?' Constance breathed, hating the fact that she would have to, so blatantly, ask for help and give away some of the last dignity she had spared. Mildred nodded slowly. Constance thought for a moment.

'I should go to her,' Constance decided.

'Can you walk?'

Constance opened her mouth to reply, but her pride hindered her answer. In a silent gesture for which Constance would be forever grateful, Mildred held out her arm and she took it with the ghost of a smile, which the young girl thought was enough of a thank you in itself.

Xxx

It took a while for Constance and Mildred to reach the corridor. Though she tried her best to hide it, each step was painful and her body felt as though it was fighting her with every movement she could manage. Mildred didn't dare to ask her if she was alright, as she knew the answer she would receive. Normally she would have been surprised that she felt the bite of tears stinging the corners of her eyes, but she couldn't bear to watch a woman in such pain; particularly one who she seemed to be forming such a strange yet unbreakable bond with.

After a few minutes, Constance began to slow even more.

'Do you want to stop for a minute Miss Hardbroom?' Mildred asked cautiously. As much as she hated to admit it, Constance knew that if she went on then she would crumple into an indelicate heap on the floor before she reached the headmistress and gave a curt not.

'Just for a second,' she insisted, though the way that the colour had drained from her face suggested it would need to be much longer.

'Is there nothing that I can do?'

Constance shook her head, her waves of dark hair rippling across her shoulders.

'Is it the baby?' inquired Mildred.

'In a way,' Constance admitted, 'but she's fine, I know she is. She's one tough little baby.' Mildred could have sworn that, through the deathly pale colour of her skin, she saw a hint of pride grace Miss Hardbroom's face and a small smile pass across her lips; she couldn't help but smile herself.

'Like her mother,' she whispered comfortingly.

Constance had never really understood the word, so simple and yet so meaningless. A title brought about because of circumstance, not earned in any way or worthy of anything within itself. She had always thought that it was overrated; that was, until she became one. Now every time she heard the word, six ordinary letters joined together as so many others are, she felt warm inside. She didn't know where or when it had happened, but she had become a mother and, for now at least, she couldn't have been happier.

That moment of happiness, warm and comforting like a crackling fire, was broken into uncountable pieces as quickly and unexpectedly as it had come. It didn't even feel like pain anymore, just an overwhelming sensation of pressure taking over her body and pulling her towards the ground. It burned like the brightest flame and Constance felt her baby move inside her stomach, as though looking to her mother for answers she could not give.

Constance backed into the nearest wall and slid down, unable to stop the tears rolling down her cheeks as she lost control. Mildred ran the few steps to her side and knelt down brushing stray hair from her face as it fell from her loosely tied plaits.

'What is it Miss Hardbroom? What do I do?' cried Mildred in desperation. Breathing through the pain, Constance forced an answer.

'Help...help me up...' she rasped through deep and rattling breaths.

'Shouldn't you stay where you are? I can get help-'

'Mildred!' Constance half shouted, her eyes glinting with a stare Mildred had seen many times which warned her to do as she was told.

As Mildred pulled her to her feet, Constance felt an uncomfortable pressure in her stomach and something warm trickle down her legs. Looking down, Constance's heavy heart sank to the pit of her stomach. She wasn't ready; not now, not here, not with the essence of Hecketty Broomhead still present in the stagnant air.

'Miss Hardbroom?'

'I think...' Constance started uncertainly, her voice close to cracking with what could have been fear, 'I think my waters just broke.'

It came like the bells of death tolling loudly through what had been silence, the sound of alarm bells which signified an end to the blissful calm and reassuring comfort of life as Constance had once known it. Her hands began to visibly tremble and, though the pain was forgotten, terror struck her sharply like the back of an unyielding hand across the face. Mildred, being brighter than Constance sometimes gave her credit for, managed to work out what was going on and turned to her tutor.

'Miss Hardbroom, she's coming isn't she? What do we do?' Words failed Constance as she cradled her abdomen absent-mindedly, trying to find a solution which would never come. Miss Cackle raced around the corner with her grey bob of hair swaying until she stopped a few feet behind Mildred to catch her breath.

'Constance?' she asked with what energy she could spare, begging for answers for which there was no time. Constance looked down at her quivering hands and saw how the skin seemed to sparkle, the way fallen rain shimmers in the sun. Fresh tears rose to her eyes and she allowed them to stroke her cheeks.

_I'm so sorry. I should have protected you;, I should have fought harder for you...please know that I love you. If nothing else, I love you..._

The only clear thoughts in her mind went out to her daughter, the life yet to grace the world with its presence, the child about to be born into a cruel and lonely world.

'Mildred, move back,' Constance said quietly.

'What? No, I'm not leaving you' protested Mildred.

'Mildred Hubble do as I say right this minute or so help me I will expel you before you have the chance to breathe!' She shouted, the strongest glimmer of her former self that even she had seen in a very long time. Without a word, Mildred moved away and stood beside Miss Cackle who placed a comforting arm on her shoulder. Neither knew what to do or to say for a moment, stunned by confusion and fear; in the end they didn't have to say anything at all.

It happened in the blink of an eye or less, through the blaring of the alarm and the sounds of students wandering from the hall in search of answers. A flash of brightness, pure and blinding like a ray of virgin sunlight, enveloped Constance before their eyes and before either of them could work out what was going on, the corridor was empty. She was gone, vanished before their eyes in the briefest of moments in an act beyond explanation.

She had been taken before their eyes. Their efforts had failed, their defences broken and it seemed that all hope had been lost.

Xxx

Dazed and aching, Constance felt herself coming round on an unfamiliar floor. Her eyes could barely stand to open, the effort like nothing she had ever experienced, though she was met only with darkness. Closing her eyes once more, Constance groaned and placed a hand to her oversized stomach which was throbbing with the aftershocks of contractions strong enough to cause her entire body to convulse. She didn't know how long she had been there, only that she had been drifting in and out of a haze for some time and it terrified her.

Feeling a cold, gnarled hand on her shoulder Constance could have burst into endless tears. She was cold, alone and in pain, with nothing but the shadow of evil to decide whether she lived or died. Once more she was the only woman in the world, and this time there really was nobody to save her.

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><p><strong>So...how was it? Hopefully worth the effort of reading and not too bad XD Thanks for reading and hope it was alright, would absolutely love to know how this chapter has gone as it has taken up over a week of writing and a month of thinking!<strong>

**All reviews no matter how brutally honest are appreciated and welcomed (and encouraged!) Thanks to you all, HBR.**


	21. Chapter 21

**Apologies again for the delay, but you have to admit it is less than last time!**

**Now this chapter has had me puzzling for days if not weeks. It has been rather hard to write, mostly because I didn't want it to sound like everything is happening at once (and trust me, there is a LOT more to come!) and I wanted a rather more condensed and intimate setting. **

**I don't know what it has turned out like, other than a proof read at nearly 4am, so I would love to know what you think.**

**Big thanks to everyone who has reviewed! And especially to NCD who always finds time to be fab even when she's busy.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 21<strong>

Reality itself had become no more than an endless ocean. Everything had simply merged together to create a nonsensical blur, a relentless wave which seemed to rage without purpose or direction. Images of where she was and what was happening around her had become a clouded and unreadable fog. Every now and again she could swear that through the haze, she felt something brisk touch...was that her arm? She couldn't really tell anymore. All that she knew was that touch, perhaps another's hand on hers, made her uneasy and she wanted nothing more than to pull away from whoever it was, yet of course she knew that she couldn't.

Her body seemed detached and lost on that same never-ending wave, her mind barely able to allow rational thought to take place as it slipped in and out of what she could only describe as awareness. What Constance did know was that she was a mess, trapped somewhere in a state not quite waking or sleeping, being constantly pulled between life and death. Yes, if there was one thing that she was aware of, it was death's dark shadow being cast over her. It lingered, watching over her like a blackened guardian angel ever present in her misery, waiting for her tired bell to toll and relinquish its feeble sound one last time.

Through the confusion, Constance found her mind being thrown back into memories she had tried to forget. She would find herself looking upon a scene from what could barely be described as a childhood, watching her younger self suffer in silence as her life was slowly drained away. It sickened her to her very core even now.

Xxx

The night was darker, more unyielding than she had ever known it to be. The only sound was the whistle of the wind as it passed on by, rushing away from what it saw to be a place rooted purely in evil. Even the passive moon shied away, able to see in its own eerie light that the ancient castle held within it secrets never to be told.

Trees rustled, hushed whispers passed between them as they watched the silent tomb: a place where dreams were captured and locked away forever, and where happiness died a mournful death. Like the people who lived within the walls of the Witch Training College, the trees knew of the terrible atrocities hidden in plain sight yet which were never questioned, simply accepted.

They knew that a young girl was locked away in a room deep within the castle's basement, being forced to perform near impossible spells over and over until her fingers almost shook from the fatigue. She had done nothing to deserve what she would get over the coming years of her life.

Perhaps if her father had known, then even such a greedy and heartless man would not have handed his daughter over so easily. Left to count coins in his grubby palms, he would never know what he had sentenced his daughter to; his only living relative, what most men wished for in life, and he had sent her into the snake pit at eight years old. If ever a heart had sat in his chest surely now it would be cold and shrivelled, barely able to keep him in a state that could be called living, more like continuing his small and pitiful existence.

The great oak door swung slowly open, its hinges screaming in protest. It opened to reveal a gateway, almost like the portal to an unknown world. Every single person at the WTC knew that if you entered that room, disappearing into the darkness with the door locking behind you, then you would come out shaken if not broken and no-one ever spoke, nor was brave enough to ask, as they feared the answers they would find.

Constance walked slowly through the doorway, her posture perfect and her black dress immaculate; that had been lesson one. She waited until the door closed behind her before she dared even to let out the breath she had been holding in the pit of her stomach.

Her eyes darted to one of the many clocks which covered the walls and even in the darkness, she could just about make out the time of half past four in the morning. It would only be an hour, perhaps two, before the sun would deign to give its light back to a world she had once known, or at least thought that she had.

Everything had changed. Even though her life before had been nothing short of miserable, every day more lonely than the last, to find that she missed her damp dark room gave her an insight into what her new life would be like. Walking down the corridor Constance tried to keep her head held high and her movements brisk but graceful, but her body fought her with every step. She felt the hot gaze of Mistress Broomhead on the back of her neck even when she was nowhere to be seen. It was like an aura which followed her around, watching for the slightest hint of failure which had already been deemed unacceptable in every form.

Constance had never known quite what to expect from the Witch Training College. She had read a bit about it, about the high standards and long working terms with strict tutors, and had found herself apprehensive but excited. Having been locked away for her entire life, being given the chance to practice an art she had only whispered behind closed doors had seemed like a gift, the first in as long as she could remember.

But as soon as she had come across Hecketty Broomhead that morning, at 6 o'clock sharp, she had known that whatever hopes she had would soon be dashed. She didn't have to say anything to instil such deep and concrete fear; she said all that needed to be told with a dark, heartless gaze which seemed to burn as brightly as fire, yet there was no colour in her eyes.

Constance had been in that room, a room she knew that she would come to dread, for almost twenty four hours. She had expected hardship and discipline of course, but she was intelligent. She knew that this wasn't how it was supposed to be. Most of the other students she had seen that morning, each more than five years her senior, had seemed friendly enough. They waved, their expressions a little puzzled and understandably so but still amicable; that was until they saw her with Mistress Broomhead. Walking down the corridor, Constance saw their faces fall and that friendly expression turn to what could only be described as pity.

Finding her room as quickly as she could, Constance opened the door to find a room no bigger than a caretaker's cupboard. The bed was small and plain with a thin white duvet and a pillow that looked to offer no comfort, and a small desk accompanied by a broken chair had been squashed into the opposite corner; there was barely space to move. The small window was too high to look out of properly, though as she looked up Constance watched the blinking stars. In that following minute that she stood watching the sky, she could have sworn that the stars were fading away and she was overcome by a wave of sadness; it felt as if she would never see the stars shine brightly again.

She sat on her bed watching the clock for what seemed like a lifetime, allowing a solitary tear to escape from the corner of her eye. Her hands were curled almost into fists like the arthritic fingers of an elderly woman, where she had been forced to cast over and over again until each spell had sent spasms of pain through her arms that she had been forced to control. Looking down at her left wrist Constance saw a mottled ring of blue and purple, which had formed since this morning when she had allowed a strand of hair to come loose and fall across her face. Without muttering a word, she waved the fingers of her right hand in the smallest movement and a bag of ice appeared in her lap. She placed it over her tender wrist, flexing her aching fingers as she did so.

Constance rested her head against the wall, bringing her knees closer to her chest. Watching the clock until 6am came around and it all started once more, she stopped being an eight year old girl. From that moment on she had been forced to change, adapting to survive as she knew the stakes were higher than she wanted to imagine. Lots of things went unsaid at the WTC but she had come to learn them all in a matter of hours. It was the first day of countless days.

As of that day, Constance created a wall around her heart and soul. She could see what Mistress Broomhead wanted and what she could do if given the chance. If nothing else, she swore that she would become the best witch that she could be. She promised herself that anything less than perfection would not be good enough, not in her eyes or her tutor's, and until she was given freedom she would have to abide by an unjust law.

That night was one of the longest of her life. It was the night the caged bird was locked away in a prison cell when she had hoped to be set free, the night that she would never forget and that would haunt her as her darkest hour approached.

Xxx

There was another memory which broke the roaring silence; yet it wasn't quite a memory, it couldn't be. She knew that it had never happened to her, but it felt warm and comforting like the embrace of an old friend and she knew what would happen before it took place.

Constance was sat at the front of a large, open room with the brightest light streaming through the windows with boundless energy. She had settled in a chair. The high wooden frame she had known for many years, but now it served a different purpose. Despite the peace and tranquillity of the scene, she was aware of a pain which shrouded her body; she couldn't tell if that was part of the dream, or her current state bleeding across the line between image and reality.

She couldn't stop staring. It was something that she could not help but do. In her arms, nestled softly against her chest and wrapped in pale blankets was her baby, her daughter. She slept soundlessly, her skin as perfect as porcelain and her tiny chest moving up and down so gently as she breathed in the fresh morning air.

Constance could feel tears in her eyes. They spilled silently down her face, not quite of happiness or of dismay but simply of relief. She moved her free hand cautiously to her daughter, stroking her cheek using the back of her forefinger with the lightest touch. Moving to her blanket, Constance pulled it a little to cover her daughter's chest, but was startled when she began to move in her arms.

Still lost in a world of sleep, her troubles no more than a distant memory, she stretched out her impossibly small hand and took a firm yet loving grasp of her mother's little finger. Pulling her close to where her small heart was beating, the child could sleep knowing that her mother was there for her; she didn't move another inch.

Every time this image came to Constance, her mind filled with emotions she had not felt in years. In all of the time she had been stern and concealed, her soul hidden never to be exposed for others to see, she had imagined that she had lost her ability to love. She had never felt that she deserved what she thought to be such a great gift, always seeing herself as unworthy of another's affections; it wasn't as if she had ever been proved wrong.

Yet now, even with just an image of what could be hers in her mind, she felt these feeling rising within her soul like a young eagle soaring for the first time into the open sky. Constance knew that it would have been easier just to settle in the fog, to allow herself to be caught up in its infinite simplicity and to let the rest of the world go. Life could be so complicated. The temptation just to stay one step backwards, neither watching nor participating, to be out of sync by a fraction of a heartbeat was overwhelming. She knew already that the fight to regain control would be verging on impossible, the prize to be won hours of gruelling pain and the terrible feeling of being scared of a million things.

But she had something worth fighting for.

Xxx

It felt nothing like the gentle transition from the dream world to reality, but more like her entire body was being pulled in every direction and uncountable needles were piercing her flesh. It was exhausting just to be awake, to pull her mind from its mystical haze and force herself into the real world; the ache of her swollen stomach told her that it wasn't about to get any easier.

She knew that, if nothing else, she had to open her eyes. She was now aware of her body, of her surroundings and the deep unyielding chill which seemed not just to penetrate through her clothes to claw at her skin, but drilled deep into her fragile soul.

Blinking ferociously and ignoring the daggers stabbing relentlessly at her chest, Constance forced her eyes to open fully and take in where she was. She knew the place instantly. She had guessed just by the sense of it, that awfully bitter chill even in the first days of summer, but seeing it with her own eyes made her ailing heart sink further.

The room was dark, lit only by a distant candle which flickered, casting monstrous shadows on the wall behind. Constance had never been afraid of the dark. In fact, she had always found it oddly comforting. As a child, whenever she had been in darkness she had been alone and that was the only time she could say that she wasn't truly terrified of what was happening to her. A figure stood at the other end of the long bare room, just a blackened silhouette against the dancing fire of the candlelight. She needed no introduction.

Constance could feel the tear tracks half dried on her cheeks and wondered with a feeling of great embarrassment whether she had muttered as she drifted in and out of consciousness. She already felt at a disadvantage from where she was sitting hopelessly on the floor with Mistress Broomhead seeming to tower over her even from a distance. She opened her mouth a fraction to try and say something, though her voice shied away before words could form. It was as though she could feel the smirk forming on her former tutor's face at her failure even of the simple task of speech.

'Oh my,' she mocked joyously, 'how the mighty have fallen.'

She knew that it would hurt, she had intended it to. Constance was a proud woman who strived to do at least her best in every aspect of her life. She was capable, powerful and strong in mind and magic; to be told that she was little more than nothing hurt her more than she dared to admit, even to herself.

'When I took you in...what, thirty two years ago? I thought that you had promise,' Hecketty continued, beginning to walk slowly around the edge of the room with her face moving in and out of the light's reach.

'You had everything: the talent and the will, the power and the work ethic; how is it that you came to be such a disappointment?'

'I...' Constance tried, her throat seeming to be constricted by an invisible hand, 'I...I don't know.' The answer was feeble and she knew it. She knew that to play Hecketty's game she had to be smarter, to think as she did and not allow her inside her head. The problem was that she was already there. She always had been.

'You don't know?' spat Hecketty, her dark eyes suddenly ablaze with the candle's light. 'I expected more from you, so much more. You could have been something, but now...now you are only good for what destiny has put in place for you. At least your life will provide me with at least...some use; as of course will your daughter's.'

Her tone changed in a second, from cruel and spiteful to taunting and playful. She loved to manipulate everyone around her, to turn their own fears against them so that they ended up destroying themselves. Her power was rooted in her fury, such a deep and endless anger which bubbled inside her like the magma of a volcano threatening to erupt. When she was angry, she was dangerous and capable of just about anything.

Constance tried to hide her fear, but she knew that it would be written plainly in her eyes. The room seemed to grow smaller, the air becoming thinner as she began to panic. She couldn't stop herself. She was trapped like an animal waiting to be taken for slaughter, with nothing in this world that she could do about it. There was another life at stake yet she was powerless, biding her time by minutes with no real plan; she could see that there would be no escape.

Her thoughts were scattered once more as she felt another contraction rip through her body, the force so great that she couldn't quite stifle the scream rising in her throat and had to let it pass across her lips. It was like nothing she had ever felt; searing pain which flashed like lightening until every part of her body was engulfed in this dark aura of agony. Constance tried to breathe through the pain, but it was too strong. For a moment she was sure that it was too much, that her body couldn't cope with any more struggling; but after a lifetime, it began to slowly to ebb away. The dull ache which continued to pound in her abdomen with every beat her heart could manage was another reminder; this was just the beginning.

Pushing a loose strand of her dark hair away from her face Constance breathed as deeply as she could, finding it difficult to regulate her erratic heartbeat and loosen the tight hold her chest seemed to have around her lungs. She could feel perspiration on her forehead and, to her dismay, felt tears flow down her cheeks. In Hecketty's eyes crying was the ultimate weakness, an admittance of failure as much as emotion and something she had never tolerated.

Constance expected Mistress Broomhead to shout, but the last thing she expected was for her to laugh. The sound was like a clap of thunder on a dark night, mighty and powerful yet so unforgivably cruel. It had no glimmer of happiness. The laugh came from the dark pit where her heart should have been, bathed in malice; no laugh of hers had brought anything more than a shiver to those unfortunate enough to hear it.

'There was a time when I thought that I would never see you cry, Constance' Hecketty jeered with a wicked glint in her soulless eyes. 'I thought that it would take much more to break you. What a protégée you turned out to be.' It was perhaps the adrenalin now pumping around her body, or the fact that her fear was outweighed by her hate for the woman before her, but from somewhere Constance found the courage to speak.

'You have no heart,' she told the older woman, her tone one of truth yet still resentful. 'And that will be your downfall.'

'Is that the best you can do?' said Hecketty, waiting for a response that they both knew would never arrive.

'Pathetic,' she dismissed callously, her mood changing quicker than the wind of a storm as her face fell dark and stern once again.

There was a long silence, one which held within it the vacancy of questions unasked and answers just waiting to be given. It was a long time before either woman spoke again, and it was Hecketty who broke the stagnant air if only to scare the younger witch before her.

'I would guess that you do not know much about magical births,' Mistress Broomhead remarked in a knowing manner.

'Not really,' Constance answered in a monotone voice, attempting to disguise the way her heart skipped a beat at the thought of what was to come for her and her baby.

'A child born of magical parents,' Hecketty began, 'has, in almost all cases, the raw energy of magic instilled in its body even before it is born, though of course it is not aware of this power. When the process begins, the baby is startled and scared by what is going on; naturally, it will try and defend itself.'

Constance could hear the hint of malicious glee in Hecketty's tone, the tone, she feared, of someone who despite her composed exterior could be teetering on the brink of madness. No normal human being could do this to someone, to an unborn baby, and have not a feather's weight on their conscience. It was as if she was not human.

'Often,' she continued, beginning to pace the width of the room before Constance 'the child will subconsciously let off bursts of magic as it is being born, which makes the process far more dangerous and particularly painful for the mother.' She added the last part with emphasis, delighting in how she knew it made the younger woman feel even if she didn't show it.

'With your baby, the magic is so much stronger and I would guess that, by the pallor of your face, it has already begun to learn how to use it. Babies born of pure magic with only one true parent have always been uncommon, unheard of nowadays since it was banned all those years ago; mostly because rarely both mother and child survived the pregnancy let alone the birth.'

'Stop it, just stop!' shouted Constance, finding strength from somewhere deep within. Hecketty beamed.

'I would have,' she whispered cruelly. 'It could all have been over by now, you know that. I could have taken what I wanted and you...wouldn't have been troubled further by any of this. But you had to do it, didn't you? You had to cast that spell.'

It was true.

Moments before she had been taken from the academy, with the knowledge that at any time she would appear within the clutches of her former tutor, Constance had muttered a few well chosen words beneath her breath. She had protected her baby, casting a spell to prevent anyone else from taking her or birth by any other form than the natural way. It had taken more than the energy she had, casting her off into a state which she couldn't even describe; but her daughter had been, and still was, safe and that was all that mattered.

But there was a flaw in her plan and Hecketty Broomhead knew it well. She was safe, for now, as long as her baby was kept locked within her. As soon as she was born, no enchantment could keep her safe. She would be snatched from her mother's arms still crying and Constance knew her life would end.

'Take me,' she whispered suddenly.

'What?' scoffed Hecketty in a tone of pure disgust.

'Why would you create a life just to take it away? There are easier ways to get what you want, ones which don't come at the cost of an innocent child. Just...just let her go and take me instead. I won't fight, I won't struggle...please let me give her a life.'

'Oh how touching,' Hecketty mocked, on the brink of laughter, 'you've actually grown attached to it! I can hardly believe this. The great Constance Hardbroom, strict and controlling and powerful with skills people could only dream of has become a weak and pitiful...there isn't even a word for it. There is no word for what you are. A disappointment, a failure; I should have thrown you out onto the streets where you belonged. I had such faith in you. You could have been the most powerful witch in the country; you could have been something, but now you're...you're a disgrace.'

She didn't want the acceptance of her tutor, not now she had finally found some form of freedom from her, yet part of her still seemed to need it. Constance knew in her rational mind that she was not a failure, that her life had been worth something at least. Then why was there a voice, her own voice, whispering in the back of her mind:

_She's right. You threw away your chances, let everything you had slip through your fingers and now you're nothing. You're going to die a nobody, who no-one will mourn and everyone will gladly forget._

'Yes, you could give me some of what I want,' Hecketty continued in a more than serious tone, 'but not completely. You would oppose me, in spirit if not in physical refusal and I need a young mind, an impressionable mind. It has been foretold in a prophecy older than time itself.'

The word prophecy snapped Constance's attention. Mistress Broomhead had never believed in predictions of the future; she called it 'illogical nonsense'. So if someone had told of a prophecy, one thing which is destined to happen, then for Hecketty to believe it, surely it had to be true.

'A woman they called the first true witch' Hecketty explained, 'gained all of her power when she fell in love with a wizard, the most skilled sorcerer in the entire world. He loved her to such an extent that he relinquished half of his magic to her. She was known as the Queen, the first in a line of descendents gifted with pure magic given through love; the most powerful force in existence. She passed her magic on to her children, who passed it on to theirs as long as their children were born to a wizard to enrich the magical blood. Each of her true descendents is known themselves as a Queen.'

'On her deathbed, this woman told of a witch that would be born under an eclipse of the moon with the power of a thousand wizards. She would be gifted with pure, untainted magic as the last heir of the first Queen and on her 40th natal day would conceive her own child: a baby of magical origins, who would bring the rise of a warrior and the end of an era. Darkness would fall and a new age would begin, one of the prosperity of magic and the death of all that had been. This would come as the last Queen dies.'

'So you see, Constance,' Hecketty finished with a note of sickening pleasure, 'it has to be you. You are the last true Queen, born under a lunar eclipse and about to bear the child of revolution.'

Constance tried to take it all in, the story still dancing around in her mind yet refusing to co-operate completely. It was her; she was the last Queen. She would have refused to believe it had she not heard it muttered behind closed doors when she was a child. Feeling another contraction rip through her stomach, she begged her baby not to come.

_It's not safe,_ _just hang on for me. I'll never let her take you, but you have to hang on._

But it was a promise that she feared she wouldn't have the option to keep. The contraction passed quicker than the first, though the ache which remained stayed stronger and she could feel the time coming closer when she would have to let her daughter pass into the dangerous world laid out for her.

With more effort than she had thought she could ever muster Constance rose to her feet unsteadily, grappling desperately for the walls with her hands and just managing to pull herself upright. Her legs weren't stable, wobbling dangerously for a moment before steadying and, somehow, holding her almost straight. She felt strangely more confident on her feet, as though the advantage Hecketty had held over her in height was lost and each battle won, no matter how petty, would help her to win the war.

'I searched for you,' Hecketty informed her, 'for years I traced the maps of genealogy across the country, across the world, until I found a young woman descended directly from the first witch herself. I found her, only to discover that she was already pregnant by natural means; the baby was due on the night of a lunar eclipse.'

'You...' Constance stuttered, 'you knew my mother?' Hecketty smiled a terribly cracked and malicious smile.

'Oh yes, I knew her. I became almost friendly with her, gaining her trust as the time neared for her baby to be born.' Hecketty's face suddenly fell as dark as the pits of hell.

'Somehow, she found out my intentions. She ran with her husband, a simple enough man who barely understood his own name let alone the danger they were in, and gave birth to you in secret; but not before I had made sure that she would no longer be of any trouble.'

Constance knew before she asked. It seemed to fit, like the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle slotting perfectly into place. She couldn't help the tears which flooded her face. After everything Mistress Broomhead had done to her; the scars she still bore across her battered body, the way she could never open up even to her closest friends, the self loathing she had adopted and had become part of herself...On top of every aspect of her life that she had already been ruined, Hecketty Broomhead had taken away her mother.

'You killed her,' Constance whispered in disbelief as tears she didn't know she had been saving for a woman she never knew began to fall, 'you killed my mother!'

'Technically,' Hecketty said without a flicker of remorse passing across her face, 'she died in childbirth. I just...ensured that to be so. Your father never knew why it happened, but it turned out that he blamed you for it all.'

'I couldn't believe it when I found you again. Your father was willing to sell you like a worthless antique; a few coins in his back pocket and you came to the Witch Training College under my watchful eye; and I have watched you ever since.'

'And...' choked Constance, hardly able to contain the rage bursting through her chest, 'and my father?'

'Well I couldn't let him loose to tell everyone what had happened, could I?'

It was there, laid out for her to see in black and white; the story of her life, the sad and depressing story, shaped by the heartless woman before her. Her mother had died to try and save her, her father left to wonder why his wife had died and wallow in his depression. Her childhood had been lost to an unloving home and an even more abusive tutor, and even when she had graduated from the WTC she had never truly been free; the marks which had been left were deeper than just the scars she bore.

'You can't have her,' Constance said bravely, her false conviction as transparent as fool's gold. 'I would do anything for her, anything at all, and you will **not** take her.'

Hecketty laughed, that same booming sound which seemed to come from a deeper source than simply within her small frame. Her eyes were more than burning now, but dancing in the half light. She had already accepted her victory, the odds stacked so highly against her former protégée that she was trapped behind them. In her mind, she had won.

'Oh I will have your daughter,' she informed Constance assuredly, taking a step closer to the younger woman so that they were less than half a metre apart and Constance could feel her rancid breath on her neck. 'I will take your baby and leave you here, in the house where you were born and where your idiot mother sought sanctuary, so that you can go the same way that she did. Yes, I will have your baby and raise her to hate you, to despise even the memory of a mother who abandoned and abused her and left her to me...or so I'll say. She will be loyal to me, more skilled and powerful than you could ever have dreamed of and when the time is right-'

Constance knew what was coming. She wanted to place her hands over her ears to block out the horrors she would hear, the images of what would happen already flashing across her mind. Hecketty wanted magic. She wanted the pure magic of a Queen, but what her daughter could provide was something even greater. A Queen born of magic, born because of magic, would have capabilities beyond what anyone in the world had ever seen; she would have the power of magic itself and Hecketty would take it.

'When the time is right,' Mistress Broomhead declared, 'and her magic is ripe, I will take it for my own and lead the revolution, the falling of darkness and the rise of a warrior.'

She couldn't stop the tears, they were beyond her control. Constance knew of that type of dark magic, how you could extract a person's internal source of power using some of the oldest incantations known to witches, ones which were never spoken of.

'But you'll kill her,' screamed Constance in desperation. 'She'll die in pain and alone. How can you live with so much blood in your hands?'

'Greatness requires sacrifice,' Hecketty replied simply.

'Then you sacrifice something,' cried Constance, 'why should other people suffer because of you? Why should anyone give up anything to help you? You have no right to decide who lives and who dies, no-one should have that right. I won't let this happen, if it's the last thing I ever do then I will save her.'

'I think not,' Hecketty roared with such force that Constance drew back a little, breathing heavily in a moment of electrified silence. Hecketty turned and walked in the opposite direction.

'I have had enough of you for one day,' she stated coldly and raised a hand into the air. With a crack as loud as thunder, Constance's legs buckled and she fell hard yet gracefully against the floor like a newborn foul finding itself unable to stand.

'There is a magical field around this entire building,' Hecketty boasted, taunting her superiority, 'you are going nowhere. You won't leave this room until they can bring you out in a body-bag.'

Constance felt her mind working at the speed of light, with a hundred incantations rushing through her head at once. The anger at the woman she could never be blamed for despising was still bubbling in her chest, banishing the pain which was building within her and fuelling her actions. She could feel another contraction about to envelop her body, with the power of a frightened child wanting to protect itself from the monsters it thought wasn't real behind it.

She had known since she had first read the letters on that scrap of paper:

_Intra filia regina_

_Vis magica vivit_

Within the daughter of the Queen lives the power of magic.

Ever since she had read those words, Constance had known what Mistress Broomhead had wanted with her daughter. She had realised that she was the Queen she had heard her former tutor muttering in the darkest corners when she thought that she couldn't hear, and that her daughter help the true power of magic. That was the power Hecketty wanted and would do anything to get, the power which would give her more than any human should be allowed to have.

But Constance wouldn't let her. It was now or never. It had to be.

Clambering unsteadily to her feet again, Constance rested her hands against the wall. As Mistress Broomhead turned around, her face became dark with rage; she could see what was happening before it did. As the contraction came, Constance did not try to muffle the scream of agony as there was no energy left for her to do so. She channelled her and her daughter's magic through the old walls, muttering words in her head to take control of the magical field which surrounding the house.

There was one moment, one moment where she could try and save her daughter's life, and Constance seized it with all that she had. She took the field of energy into her own body, controlling it with the power of her magic and manipulating it so that it cast Hecketty out of the room; all that was left hanging in the air was a harrowing cry, a disgruntled expression of murderous rage as she was beaten, for now, at her own game. Constance could feel her grasp slipping and used the last dregs of her energy to replace the forcefield just around that one room. The house could now be seen by others, something the original field had inhibited, and no-one could get in or out of the drawing room without Constance allowing them passage.

As she let go, she felt the magic surround her and knew that, for now, her job was done. She had always known that it would come at a price. Constance took a deep breath and whispered in a hushed tone that was barely audible, 'Berrywood'. With that, she lost control and fell. For her, it happened in slow motion. She felt her legs give way and her great body stumble forwards a few paces, but all her eyes could see was the stone floor rushing up towards her. With her last breath, she whispered _I'm sorry_ to her daughter as her body hit the floor. Her hair spilled across the stone like the branches spreading out from a tree trunk and her eyes flickered for a moment before closing.

Time was short, Hecketty was waiting outside, a baby was on its way...

...and Constance Hardbroom wasn't breathing.

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><p><strong>Ok so another little chapter finished! The next one will be...at some point, hopefully not too long and will be another side to the story so to speak. Thought I would leave you with a little cliffhanger :)<strong>

**I hope it wasn't too too bad, I wasn't at all sure about it before. **

**Thanks so much for reading and hope you enjoyed it! There is still a bit of a way to go though so hang in there, the best is yet to come!**


	22. Chapter 22

**Yes, I am back again with the latest instalment of Destiny. It has been a while in the making, but bear with me people! This chapter (mostly due to my own doing) was a logistical nightmare as well as hard to write in a way that wasn't literally snooze-worthy, so I hope it isn't too bad!**

**Apologies as usual for the delay, these past two weeks have been rather trying to say the least and I have the honour of my friends and colleagues to defend tomorrow which is stressing me out a bit! **

**Longest chapter I have ever written in consolation, exceeding 10,000 words for the first time ever! I have to admit I am proud.**

**Mostly an explanatory chapter and setting up for the big finale...which admittedly will take quite a few chapters to write so more to come yet! There are a few revelations to whet the appetite and the next chapter will be the most epic yet! **

**Final thanks to everyone who has reviewed, they make it worthwhile to write and spur me on when I am having difficulty with a chapter. **

**This chapter is for NCD, the best friend and most amazing person this world could ask for. Without her I do not know how I would have survived this week, so this is a small thanks. **

**Enjoy!**

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><p><strong>Chapter 22<strong>

The sky began to weep, tears of midsummer rain falling like priceless diamonds to shatter on the ancient roof where things had once felt so alive but had now fallen silent in awe; she was gone. For Amelia, the tears refused to come. She could only stand, staring at the spot where her deputy has once stood as if that could bring her back. Her hand moved forwards, as though reaching out so that her stunted mind could begin to believe that what had happened was true; her fingers met with cool, empty air.

There weren't words to describe how she felt or what she was thinking, and in truth Amelia didn't quite know how to phrase it herself. Her thoughts were echoing, as if lost in a deep and endless chasm screaming out in pain and desperation though never loud enough to be heard. All that she could hear in her mind as she stood in muted horror was a single whispered thought:

What have I done?

Mildred opened her mouth to voice on of the one thousand questions which flooded her brain like a tsunami of uncountable words, yet watching Miss Cackle she decided that her longing for answers, for certainty and reassurance, would need to be set aside. There were more important things at stake. Life was hanging in the balance, by a weak and splitting string which could snap at any moment, and Mildred knew that in the hours to come she would need to find her inner strength.

She could feel it, a deep an unrelenting beat which pounded alongside her heat; she could feel that Miss Hardbroom needed her, and that a great responsibility would soon rest on her shoulders. It was beyond explanation, the connection which had seemed to form between Mildred and her form mistress. It wasn't a feeling, not quite a sense, but a knowledge at the back of her mind which was unquestionable yet unfounded. Mildred didn't know where Miss Hardbroom was or what was going on, but she did know that she was alone, in pain, and more worryingly than anything else, terrified.

'M-Miss Cackle?' Mildred managed to say, the tears falling freely down her face as she realised she was powerless to stop them. Her lips were trembling like a frail child left out in the cold, her emotions hot under her skin as she fought to control them.

The headmistress offered no response. She couldn't. Opening her mouth, the words simply would not come as she could offer no explanation for what had occurred before them. She had lost everything in the space of a moment; her confidence, her sense of morality and her dearest friend all seemed to have fallen away from her in such a short amount of time. There was nothing she could do, and no words to do justice to the emptiness within her.

Xxx

Miss Drill appeared on the corner of the never ending corridor with Miss Bat close behind. Though neither woman knew completely what was going on, the full story fractured into hundreds of shards like breaking glass and cloaked in mystery, they were loyal to the school and their colleagues. They had always known that something was wrong, something which endangered life and above all the unborn child not yet given the chance to grace the world with its presence. The alarm which had struck fear into both of their hearts meant that she had been here, that despicable woman, and that Constance was in danger once more.

Imogen stood, catching her breath as she tried to work out what had happened. As she had arrived, the alarm bell had ceased to ring and she was left staring at the headmistress who seemed transfixed on the empty corridor ahead. Her first thought was of Constance; where was she? That question churned uncomfortably in her stomach. It didn't feel right; that sentence as it ran through her mind seemed wrong, forbidden and so terribly sad. She didn't want to ask, for she feared that she already knew the answer.

Miss Bat's befuddled mind was ruled by two very different personalities. When the alarm had begun to ring through the school for a second time, one part of her had longed for nothing more than the safe sanctuary of her cupboard. It was somewhere in which she felt detached from the rest of the world, out of sync from reality in a place where there was only her left with her thoughts away from everyone else's problems; nothing could harm her there.

Yet her duty, as a teacher and a caring woman, had not allowed her to simply run away. It was selfish, and that was one thing that Davina refused to be; at least not when she could help it. She had seen the girls crying and screaming, terrified and confused as their world fell apart, transforming into an unknown wasteland of anarchy. She had wanted nothing more than to stay with them, to weep with them and tell them that everything would be alright; her heart hadn't been able to bring herself to tell such lies.

Although she had never truly understood Constance Hardbroom, Davina knew that the misconceptions everyone held of her infallibility were so desperately wrong. It was plain to see for those who looked hard enough; no woman could be that strong. She had always known that there was someone behind the mask, and over the past few months that woman had begun to emerge. Now Miss Bat feared the truth, the terrible truth which she could feel hanging over them like a storm cloud, and which threatened to lock this newfound woman away forever.

'Miss Cackle,' Mildred tried again, more forcefully this time though it was not true force, just desperation masquerading as strength. She wiped furiously at the tears which, despite her best intentions, continued to fall; they simply fell faster and stronger.

Miss Bat moved slowly towards the struggling pupil, her arm resting reassuringly on her shoulder. Mildred turned towards her chanting teacher, her eyes lost in a sea of despair barely able to hang on.

'What happened, Mildred?' Davina asked tentatively. Mildred looked deep into Miss Bat's eyes, and at once Davina knew that whatever she had feared the truth was far worse.

'I was with Miss H-Hardbroom,' started Mildred, fighting to catch her breath. 'I knew there was something wrong...but she wouldn't tell me what it was. We were going to get Miss Cackle...'

Amelia heard the words and felt them pierce her already broken heart. She had needed her. Constance had needed her. She had been coming to find her, to ask for her help when...

It shouldn't have mattered. Whether she had been with her or not, Mistress Broomhead would still have cast the spell and snatched the deputy headmistress from the castle; to her, it didn't feel that way. She knew, deep in her soul, that she should have been there. She could have tried.

'She told me...' Mildred continued, her composure cracking as tears spilled down her sodden cheeks, 'she told me that her waters had broken. She said she was scared and we were tr-trying to f-find someone but everyone was in the hall.' Her speech was becoming faster, more erratic as emotion which needed to be released built up in her chest, threatening to burst.

'It was her, Mistress Broomhead; she was here, though she didn't show her face. She did i. She took them. There was a spell; everything went bright and Miss Hardbroom...she just sort of disappeared. I tried, but I couldn't...there was nothing I...' She broke like a china doll falling to the floor and smashing into a million pieces, falling gracefully into Miss Bat's open arms and sobbing softly as she let everything go. It wasn't something that a young girl should have to watch, let alone attempt to understand. Mildred knew that she had to be strong, but did not quite understand why. She had been given such a burden which she felt it was her right to bear, her responsibility. Mildred had to try and save a woman who had always been there for her, even when she had thought it in cruelty or worse, in mockery. It had taken time, but now she knew that had never been the case and wished that everyone else could have given her the same chance.

'Amelia,' Imogen said finally, cutting the silence which had only otherwise been broken with the gentle weeping of a frightened child. Miss Cackle tried to turn to her colleague, to be the figure of authority and calm that everyone expected her to be; yet her eyes seemed to be transfixed on where Constance had been standing mere moments before, doubled over in pain. She could almost see the ghosted outline of where she had been shimmering in her wake, the shadows of her deep brown eyes begging for someone to help her.

It happened without her quite knowing why. Miss Cackle stumbled back a few steps and made to fall, losing her balance and reaching out for the wall which was only just too far away. Miss Drill moved as quickly as her legs could carry her and caught the headmistress' arm, holding her upright with all of the strength that she had. Imogen looked at Miss Bat, whose chin was resting lightly on the top of Mildred's head.

'Perhaps we should make our way to the staffroom,' Imogen suggested and Miss Bat gave a brief nod of agreement. Putting her arm around Mildred's shoulder, she whispered into her ear words only they would ever know and it seemed to work. Silently, Mildred complied and with Miss Drill at Miss Cackle's side, they left the place none of them would ever forget.

Xxx

Walking into the staffroom, Miss Cackle could immediately feel an uncertain chill which pervaded the air. She swallowed painfully as she allowed her eyes to wander, if only for the briefest of moments, to the small writing desk still stacked with books marked that morning in Constance's hand. It sent a shiver down her spine and a wave of crushing realisation over her entire body.

As the headmistress, Amelia often felt the failures and triumphs of her pupils as her own. She wanted to do her best for them, as they did for her, and couldn't bear it when they seemed beyond the help she offered to them. She had failed Constance. Nobody would say it, not even Mildred who knew that she would have been the only one who could have at least attempted to stop Mistress Broomhead, but the truth was there even if unspoken.

Collapsing heavily into an armchair, the headmistress' mind was a haze of every emotion it was possible to feel. She kept seeing the last flash of her deputy's face before she had disappeared, trying to work out what Constance had been thinking before...It was too painful. Mildred had said it herself; Constance had been scared.

The strong and stoic woman, independent despite everything that had tainted her young life, had admitted possibly for the first time that the she was terrified. Maybe she had known something that they didn't, something which gave her reason to fear her future. Or perhaps it was just the uncertainty, the waiting around with her fate in another's hands not knowing when she was going to strike; and then she had.

Nevertheless, in her darkened chasm of self pity and woe, Miss Cackle knew that she had to be strong. What had happened was the fault of none other than Hecketty Broomhead, and there was no changing it. She knew that the past was a play which could be repeated but never altered, a memory on which to dwell would only waste the time which could change the future. She could not be caught up in contemplation. There was someone who needed her, someone to whom she owed so much yet gave so little, and she had to try at least to save her.

Mildred sat on the chair opposite the headmistress, wiping her eyes furiously with the sodden sleeve of her nightgown with Miss Bat crouched beside her for moral support. It appeared that she was calm, yet inside she was screaming. There was no antidote for what she had seen; neither for what her mind refused to let her forget, nor for the thoughts of terrified screams of pain which echoed constantly around her skull like a stuck record doomed to repetition; it was what she feared was the present for her form mistress.

'We have to do something,' Imogen announced after some time; she despised waiting around for something to happen. She could not, however, deny the fact that not one person in the room knew anything which they could use to take any form of action. They were stuck.

'What would you suggest?' Amelia asked her in a tiresome tone.

'I don't know,' replied the gym mistress sharply, 'but we can hardly sit around here waiting. The baby's coming and Hecketty has Constance; we haven't got much time.'

'Do you think that I don't know that Miss Drill?' The headmistress looked up at her colleague with eyes burning with emotion. Imogen shifted her feet sheepishly. She opened her mouth to say something, but could not find the words.

'Do you not think,' continued Amelia, 'that if there was anything that I could do, anything at all, I would be doing it? We don't know where she is, Imogen, we have no idea. She could be anywhere; how are we supposed to help her if we can't even find her?' She looked away as the tears which had refused to fall finally came. They were hot, stinging her eyes as they escaped from their prison of denial and ran down her cheeks as the rain fell solemnly outside.

'She's strong,' Davina piped up from where she had been sitting quietly with Mildred. 'If there is anyone who can get through this, it's Constance.'

'Yes,' Imogen agreed nodding slowly. 'Miss Cackle I-' The headmistress silenced her with a shake of her head.

'There is no need, Imogen; I know that you are only trying to help and rightfully so. You are right. We cannot sit and wait for something to happen, but I am afraid that I am not quite sure what we can do.'

'How much time do we have?' inquired Imogen.

'I don't really know,' Amelia admitted, wiping her eyes, 'I haven't got much experience in magical births.'

'I know that it varies,' added Davina. 'It can depend on the magical power of the mother and the child, on the situation and strength of the woman in particular. I would say that we can't have more than a few hours at best.' Amelia bit her lip nervously.

'The child...there's something I haven't told you,' the headmistress confessed. 'It wasn't quite what you would call a natural conception. Mistress Broomhead cast a spell, one which was banned centuries ago and for good reason. It causes a child to be conceived from the essence of magic, so the baby is more powerful and has far greater skill than that of a normal witch's child.'

'But it's dangerous. The baby was giving off magic, powerful surges of energy, and Constance...'

Amelia sighed heavily and felt the warm droplets grace her face once again.

'She was suffering, though she never admitted it, and I didn't look after her. She's weak and vulnerable, and now Mistress Broomhead has her.'

'It's not your fault,' assured Davina gently, 'none of this is your fault.'

'Why would Mistress Broomhead want Constance's child anyway?' Imogen asked.

'I don't really know,' the headmistress replied. 'It probably has to do with the child's power, but I'm not sure. I think that Constance knew, but she refused to tell me.' Amelia gave a small, bitter laugh.

'She was the one in terrible danger and she was still trying to protect _me_.'

Mildred, who had been silently listening hard to every word as it was being said, raised her head from her hands where it had been resting sorrowfully. Davina looked at her for a moment and gave her hand a quick squeeze of reassurance with her own.

'Mildred,' said Miss Cackle, turning in her seat to face the third year pupil, 'would you like to go back and see your friends? I'm sure that they are worried about you.' Mildred shook her head at once.

'I want to stay.'

'I really think-'

'Miss Cackle,' Mildred insisted with more confidence than she had ever found within herself before, 'please let me stay. I want to help, if I can, and I don't think...I don't think that I could face it.' The headmistress nodded. She understood how Mildred felt, and after everything she had seen Amelia could not blame her for wanting to be part of what was going on around her.

In the corner of her eye, Amelia saw Imogen disappear out of the staffroom door. In an attempt to feel as if she was doing something, anything useful, Amelia rose from the chair and walked over to the hot water urn and began pouring out three cups of sweet tea.

'Miss Bat,' Mildred whispered, loud enough only for the two of them to hear.

'Yes Mildred?'

'Will she be alright?' There was no need even to say her name. It brought sadness to Mildred's aching eyes just even to think of the name she used to fear and now longed to use again. Davina smiled, a morose and yet knowing smile.

'I have never in my life met a witch like Constance. She's powerful, clever and above all determined; if there is something she wants, then she will get it.'

'She always wanted me to be expelled,' Mildred stated, looking into her lap, 'and she never achieved that.' She was surprised to hear Miss Bat give a little chuckle, and when she looked into her eyes she saw them dancing.

'Do you think that if she had really wanted you gone then you would still be here?' Mildred opened her mouth to disagree, but what the older woman was saying seemed to make perfect sense. Miss Cackle was a kind and understanding witch, but if Miss Hardbroom had been adamant that she should leave then surely she would not have made it to her third year at Cackle's.

'There are many ways in which we have all underestimated Constance,' continued Davina wisely. 'She can do more than we give her credit for. I think she would surprise us all, if given the chance no-one has yet been willing to give.'

It was only a moment before Imogen returned, poking her head around the half closed door.

'Miss Cackle,' she called, 'there is someone here to see you.'

'What?' said Amelia, turning quickly on her heel and almost knocking the cups onto the floor in her haste. 'Who is it?'

'Someone from the Witch's Guild.' Amelia's heart seemed to stop in her chest, frozen in anticipation.

'Did they find her? Do they know where she is?' It was beyond desperation. It was a feeble chance, a small hope that the headmistress felt the need to cling to with everything she had because otherwise...If all hope was lost, then so was Constance.

The pause which followed that question was the longest moment of Amelia's life.

'No.' Imogen knew that she had crushed a dream, destroyed a hope when there was not much left within her colleagues' hearts.

'But she is here about Constance.'

Xxx

The young woman entered the room, removing the hood of her coat from her head and shaking out her wavy ginger hair. Her face was one which Amelia could see would normally hold such a bright and powerful smile, yet was now was wistful and lost in the midst of disaster. Her sparkling eyes locked at once with hers, emotion raw behind the official mask she had to wear as a Guild representative. Although she did not yet know why, Amelia could see that they were both concerned for a lost soul and they were united in their sense of being lost and alone.

'Good evening Miss Cackle,' the younger witch greeted her. 'I am Cathy Starling. I work at the Witch's Guild in the Department of Magical Education and more recently as a liaison with the Magical Law Enforcement Agency.'

'Under different circumstance it would be a pleasure to meet you Cathy, but I am afraid that right now time is not a commodity which we can offer you,' the headmistress explained gently.

'I can see how that would be,' agreed Cathy, nodded slowly, 'it must be a difficult time for the entire school.' Miss Cackles' brow furrowed as she wondered exactly how much this young witch knew. She had come about Constance, that was clear, but how could anyone outside of the castle walls even known what was going on? Even Amelia was still, in part, lost in the dark.

'I do not mean to offend you dear,' Amelia started gently, moving a step closer to the woman she still could not quite understand, 'but what is it exactly that you have come about?'

'Yes, of course,' she stuttered as though lost within her distant thoughts, 'but first I have to ask...Where exactly is Miss Constance Hardbroom?' Amelia didn't even need to look up from the point on the floor where she had fixed her gaze to know that the eyes of everyone else in the room were on her. So Cathy didn't know everything. That fact was apparent, but still the headmistress had no idea of how to proceed. These were waters uncharted, murky and harbouring the dangers of worlds unknown. In times of such desperate need, Amelia did not know quite who to trust.

'She...isn't here at the moment,' replied the headmistress eventually, trying to stop her voice from cracking as her eyes welled up once more. Cathy's searching eyes seemed to look deep into hers, knowing at once that there were secrets in the room unspoken to a less than trustworthy source.

'If you told us why you were here, then we might be able to help you,' encouraged Amelia. She was not risking Constance's life for the sake of a stranger, no matter how true their intentions could be. Time was not something they had in abundance, but if this woman said anything which could cut down their search for the deputy headmistress then they had a better chance. Amelia was painfully aware that they had everything to lose.

'Fine,' conceded Cathy; there was something else far more important to her on her mind. 'About 8 months ago, the Guild began to register some suspicious levels of magic being cast around this area. It was too powerful simply to be an accident and the type of magic was ancient, older than any records we kept. It did not seem that anyone was in immediate danger, so the Guild kept it on record and had a small team of witches try and decode the spell itself.'

'For even longer, the Guild has been trying to build a case against Hecketty Broomhead,' Cathy continued. 'There have been reports for years about her maltreatment of the pupils in her care at the Witch Training College, though nothing has ever been proven, and we had reason to believe that she has been stealing magic.'

'Stealing it?' asked Imogen, her face marred by confusion. 'How can you steal magic?'

'It is a strange and difficult process,' explained Cathy. 'A witch uses her own power, transferring it to another object or person with magical ability. She allows her magical energy to absorb that of whatever she chooses, before channelling it back into her body. To say the least it is illegal, let alone wickedly immoral, but there was never any evidence of it. I have been working with a small department for months in secret trying to build a strong enough case against her. Hecketty has friends in high places, trusted colleagues on most magical juries and could always cover her tracks.'

'Sounds like her,' scoffed Amelia bitterly, 'taking what isn't hers and leaving anarchy in her wake, only to be let off because of her 'status'. It was the Guild that gave her that authority in the first place and look where that has gotten us!'

'True though that is, it is undeniable that she is devious enough to fool even the most accomplished of witches and has power enough to seem trustworthy. She manipulated a lot of people.'

'Constance always saw through her,' muttered Amelia beneath her breath, finding new pride in her deputy even in her absence.

'We couldn't find enough to even think about charging her until last week. It took researchers until last month to discover the true nature of the spell cast in this castle, one which exuded so much energy it sent out a shockwave of magic which could be felt across the entire country,' added Cathy.

'The spell...is that the one which was cast here 8 months ago?' Miss Cackle asked. The younger witch nodded in reply.

'If it was cast that long ago, then how did it take such a long time to find out what it was?' Amelia persisted bluntly. The only thought now running through her mind was that it was not just her that should have done more. So many what ifs hung in the air, the different ways that time could have changed and spared Constance such despair.

'It didn't even have a name; any written record of it had been destroyed long ago. We know now that it brings new life, life created by the pure essence of magic, though its origins are dangerous for both mother and child and most of the time...' Cathy trailed off, biting her lip absentmindedly.

'They don't survive,' Davina said quietly, finishing the sentence which had simply hung uncomfortably in the midnight air.

'When we found out what the spell was,' she continued eventually, 'we could trace it back to the witch who cast it in the first place. Hecketty's name came up and we had the final piece of the puzzle; we could finally approach the Head of the Witch's Guild with our findings and put that bitch away for good!' Cathy's bright eyes shone for a moment, but the light soon faded and she sighed heavily.

'Only...only she managed to find a way out. Mistress Broomhead managed to disappear completely from our radar; there's no trace that she exists in the world at all at this moment in time. There was a man, a man called Tom Woodstock...'

Amelia felt her heart sink at the name she regretted to admit that she had barely thought of in the past few hours. He was still there, locked in a room which was frozen in time as Constance had wished, lying dead on the floor because for no reason other than that he had tried to help. She could see in Cathy's eyes that this was the real reason that she had come. Someone had needed to come here, for one reason or another, but Cathy had volunteered because she had an ulterior motive and Amelia could see it in her eyes; she had been in love with Thomas Woodstock.

And she would have to tell her of his murder.

'He was the last person to see Hecketty before she disappeared, about five days ago,' explained Cathy, though her voice was close to breaking as she talked of what had plagued her mind in every waking hour.

'Tom went to deliver the monthly report to Hecketty's office, but he never returned. He got a message to me saying that Hecketty was planning something terrible, something to do with a woman named Constance Hardbroom and her baby. He was going to try and find her, to warn her of what was to come and told me that he would send word when he arrived here. I haven't heard from him since.' Tears glistened in the corners of Cathy's deep and soulful eyes.

'The Guild instantly made the connection between Constance and Hecketty from the WTC records and realised that it was her who was carrying the magical child.'

'Wait a moment,' Amelia interrupted.' Constance told me that she had informed the Guild of her...situation. Surely you should have known about this months ago?'

'We never received any news of that sort,' Cathy said simply. Amelia realised in that moment, that Constance had lied to her. It hurt more than she thought that anything could. It wasn't quite betrayal; Constance had enough to worry about without having to justify her actions. No, it was the way that her deputy had not been able to impart to her the full truth, had not trusted her with the entire picture. Of course, she had her reasons. The headmistress knew deep down that Constance had only been trying to protect and reassure her, and felt a sudden longing for the strict yet comforting voice of her dearest friend.

'It was probably wise of her not to inform the Witch's Guild,' Cathy mused, wiping the corners of her eyes with the back of her hand.

'How so?' Amelia inquired, her tone a little sharper than it needed to be.

'Well,' Cathy construed, 'how did she know that she could trust the person who received the letter? Even with a section of the Guild working against Mistress Broomhead, she still had many supporters and even people who worked for her who would have found it very easy to infiltrate the school and make it easy for Hecketty to take the child.'

Amelia felt, almost at once, so incredibly guilty for doubting her deputy's intentions. Cathy was right, of course; informing the Guild would have only endangered her further. She knew that they had to act, to put things right, for the sake of a woman who deserved none of what she was forced to suffer.

'Anyway,' continued Cathy, 'I need to talk to her, to try and protect her in case Hecketty comes for her and the baby; we can't have that child falling into the wrong hands.' The headmistress felt tears as hot as the far off morning sun spill once more down her cheeks.

'Well I am afraid that you are too late,' Miss Cackle told her. 'Not ten minutes ago, Hecketty Broomhead cast a spell and removed Constance from the building. She took her, Cathy, her and the baby just after her waters broke and we don't have the faintest idea where she is.'

Cathy's expression fell and her heart sank deep into her abdomen. She had been too late, if only just, and now her job was going to be ten times harder. The baby was coming, which presented many problems in itself, and if they couldn't find Constance then Hecketty would steal the magic which would make her powerful enough to overthrow anything and anyone; darkness would descend upon the world at the hands of an innocent child.

'We'll need to devise a plan of action,' Cathy announced after some time, 'but first, has anyone seen Tom? He was supposed to arrive here a day or two ago and I haven't heard from him since.' Amelia walked over to where Cathy was standing and rested a hand gently on her shoulder.

'I'm sorry,' she whispered. 'Tom came here yesterday, trying to warn us about Mistress Broomhead. We think...we think that somehow, she managed to get into the castle. Oh Cathy, I'm sorry. I'm afraid that Tom was killed last night.'

There were no words for the never-ending sadness which tore her heart in two. She felt the tears rising and falling down her face, though she knew that she could do nothing to stop them. She had tried to tell him when they had last spoken not to go, but he had been determined. Such a kind and gentle heart, and now her Tom was lost forever because of his abhorrence of injustice.

'Miss Starling, are you alright?' Cathy nodded her head and smiled weakly at the headmistress for a moment.

'Wh-what happened?'

'I don't really know,' confessed Amelia. 'Constance found him in his room after Hecketty triggered the alarm, but she was long gone.'

'Where is he now?' Cathy asked, pulling back her emotions so that her expression was verging on becoming cold. She had lost everything, been left with less than nothing in the space of a second, and now there was no reason to fake that cheery smile.

'Constance put a time lock on the room before...before everything else happened,' explained Amelia.

'Well then,' Cathy continued, her voice shaking like the last autumn leaves before they fall yet her face seemed dark, 'that will have to be taken care of later. For now, we need to find Constance and get her and her baby away from Mistress Broomhead. That shouldn't be too hard, providing we use the right resources, and afterwards the baby will be taken to the Guild and-'

'Wait!' Miss Cackle yelled in interruption. She had to have misunderstood the last few words that Cathy had said. They simply could not be true.

'What do you mean taken to the Guild?'

'The baby is powerful, conceived from pure magic. It could be dangerous, a weapon against the world or just others around it. That was why I was told to come here in the first place: to keep Constance safe and to inform her that the baby will need to be taken away after it is born.'

'For how long?' roared Miss Cackle, anger raging like fire consuming her body. Cathy's eyes no longer sparkled. That shimmer seemed to have died along with the man that she loved, and now all that was left was a dark chasm of black. There was no understanding, no compassion in those eyes and as she spoke her expression did not even waver. It was as if she didn't care that a mother and child were at risk, nor that even if they did both survive a baby would be taken away from a woman who had already lost so much.

'It depends on what we find,' said Cathy in a monotone voice, 'though I would think that a child so rare and with such dangerous potential that it might be too great of a risk to allow it to simply lead a normal life.'

'You would take a newborn baby away from its mother, someone who has already lost so much of her health and her independence and has been through a terrible ordeal, and force her to carry on as if she had never given birth?' Miss Cackle asked through gritted teeth. Cathy held her head high, the tracks where tears of heartfelt emotion had once flowed dried to nothingness. She no longer had the strength to care.

'It would be in both of their best interests of course, Miss Cackle,' Cathy replied smoothly.

'No.' The voice was small yet fierce with intensity. Mildred rose to her feet and looked with eyes bloodshot from crying at the incredible woman before her. It was impossible to believe that she was even human; she was no better than Hecketty herself.

'I beg your pardon?'

'Miss Hardbroom has been through more than enough in the past few months,' Mildred told her assuredly. 'All she wants is to have her baby in peace and live a quiet life, but no-one seems to be able to grant her that. She has suffered, every single day since she became pregnant, and for that people seem only to punish her more. Where is she now, Miss Starling?'

'I...don't know,' answered Cathy honestly.

'Exactly. She could be anywhere, suffering anything at the hands of a woman we all know to be the epitome of pure evil. You say you will take her baby from her, snatch a newborn child from its mother's arms just because it is easier than leaving her be. How could you live with yourself?'

The words had come without her needing to think. It was as though Mildred could understand exactly what Miss Hardbroom was thinking, knowing exactly what she would say to defend her honour and her right to keep her child. The words were not her own, but that of the woman she had always admired and she swelled with confidence as she decided that no matter what happened that night, she would stand by Miss Hardbroom and help her win whatever battles she had to face.

'Very touching,' Cathy said, her voice verging on sarcastic, 'but you are all forgetting one thing. The Guild cannot take possession of a child when it is at an unknown location. The fact is that she is still missing, and while this is so then nobody is in a position to do anything. I suggest that you all sit tight; no-one is leaving the castle until Constance Hardbroom and her baby are back in this building.'

Xxx

It was a flash; not quite a dream, not a vision, but an image which bombarded her mind for no more than a second. Mildred saw Miss Hardbroom crumple to the floor, the laughter of Hecketty Broomhead ringing in the background; but it was more than just what she saw. She felt her form mistress' pain, the incredible pain which engulfed every part of her body and the fear which pounded with every slowing beat of her heart. Darkness enveloped the scene, hiding Miss Hardbroom from view once more with only a distant screaming echoing around the pitch black night to prove that she hadn't succumbed to that terrible pain and finally let go. One word above all others became clear, a word spoken in the deputy headmistress' voice:

_**Berrywood**_

She didn't know what it meant, or even how to discover what it was; Mildred only knew that this was the answer, the key to finding Miss Hardbroom before whatever time was remaining ran out.

Gasping suddenly, Mildred was pulled back into the realms of normality. Her eyes adjusted once more to the dim light of the staffroom and she was aware that everyone was watching her after her unusual swift intake of air. It had been almost forty minutes since the last conversation had ended in the staffroom and no-one had said more than one word since. Cathy was sat in Constance's seat at the dining table, a cruel and twisted irony, scribbling into a small book which she appeared to be using as communication; although time was of the essence, she seemed to be in little hurry.

Mildred's eyes caught the headmistress' for a moment and she tried to beg her for a moment to talk in private. Miss Cackle raised her eyebrows briefly in understanding and cleared her throat.

'Mildred,' she announced, 'I think that it is time for you to rejoin your classmates.' Mildred nodded slowly in agreement and rose from her seat to join Miss Cackle.

'I shan't be a moment,' Amelia assured the others. It was the greatest lie she could have told.

As soon as they were out of the staffroom and out of earshot, Miss Cackle turned almost desperately to Mildred. She could see that the girl knew something, or at least thought that she did, and any hope she could cling onto was keeping her going. It felt as though at any minute, she could fall apart.

'What is it, Mildred?'

'I...I saw something,' she whispered uncertainly. 'I don't know exactly what it was, but I think that I saw Miss Hardbroom.'

'Like a vision?' asked the headmistress in an excited tone of voice.

'Sort of, I'm not really sure,' Mildred admitted sheepishly.

'What did you see?'

'Not much,' replied Mildred. 'I saw her fall in a dark room and Hecketty was there; she was screaming.' Amelia felt the words squeeze like her heart like an unrelenting hand but she ignored the urge to cry; she had to be strong.

'I felt that she was in pain and I am guessing that was the baby but she said something, something I didn't understand.'

'What did she say?'

'Berrywood,' Mildred remembered. 'I think that's where she is. I think she wanted me, or someone, to hear her so we could help her. Can we help her, Miss?'

'Of course we can Mildred,' the headmistress assured her pupil with a hint of falsified hope, 'but I don't know where Berrywood is. It could be anywhere, a town or a city...who would know about that sort of thing?'

'Ethel,' Mildred said at once. 'She knows lots of magical families all across the country and has probably visited more places with her father than anyone else in the school.'

Xxx

The great hall was buzzing with a mixture of terror and excitement. Although sleeping bags had been conjured as makeshift beds, they lay strewn across the floor providing only warmth; everyone was too on edge to sleep.

As the headmistress walked in with Mildred, all eyes turned to them and a hundred questions were hurled at them from all directions. Mildred's friends ran to her and surrounded her at once, trying not to overwhelm her but desperate to know what was going on.

'What is it Mil?' Maud asked first.

'It's Miss Hardbroom,' she whispered at a level that only they could hear. 'She's having her baby, but Hecketty Broomhead has taken her and we don't know where. We need to find her, but there's a woman here from the Guild...I'm sorry, it's all so complicated and I can't really talk right now. I have to go.'

'Millie!' Enid cried, pulling her back as she tried to run off again. 'You can't just leave us in the lurch again. All of this sounds dangerous, and I don't think-'

'It is dangerous,' Mildred assured them, 'very much so, but there are lives at stake and I can help! Please, you have to let me do this. Do you trust me?' Although reluctant to agree, Maud, Jadu, Enid and Ruby all nodded vigorously. They had faith in her, they always had, and even if their minds thought otherwise their hearts knew that it was right to agree with her.

'Wish me luck,' Mildred called after them as she ran across the hall, 'I am going to need it.'

She found Ethel in a matter of moments, standing in the corner looking unamused with a group of her closest friends. Miss Cackle had been swamped by students begging for answers and instruction, so it had been left to Mildred to get the information on which at least 2 lives would depend that night.

Ethel turned to look at Mildred with the usual disdain in her expression like marks etched into stone. Her arms were folded across her chest and Mildred sighed inwardly; this would be no easy feat.

'Mildred Hubble,' cawed Ethel in her typical tone, 'decided to join us now have you?'

'Ethel, I don't have time for this. I know you hate me and I am not going to waste time pretending that I care, but I need your help,' Mildred said bravely.

'And why should I help you?'

Mildred took Ethel's arm and pulled her away from her friends and beyond their earshot, ignoring her shouts of complaint.

'What on Earth do you think you're doing? I'm going to get Miss Ca-'

'Go and get her,' Mildred hissed, 'do whatever you like but the longer I stand here talking to you, the less time we have to find Miss Hardbroom.' Ethel opened her mouth to protest, but the last part of what Mildred had said threw her.

'I'm listening,' she said simply.

'Miss Hardbroom is gone. She's gone into labour and nobody knows where she is, only that she's in pain and in danger. I might have a chance of finding her, but I need to know if you can tell me where this place is.' Ethel swallowed. The colour had drained from her face as the realisation washed over her and, for the very first time, she laid her petty squabbling aside. She had always respected Miss Hardbroom, as a figure of the upmost authority and power; the thought that she could be in trouble was almost too much for her to comprehend. Ethel knew that now was no time for fighting. In an instant, she grew up.

'I'll try,' she said weakly.

'All I know is that, wherever this is, it's called Berrywood,' Mildred told her, feeling her heart pound so loudly in her chest that it almost drowned out her words.

'Berrywood?' Ethel repeated, watching as Mildred nodded in reply.

'I don't think there's a town or city nearby called Berrywood, and I haven't heard of a village with that name,' Ethel thought aloud. Mildred tried to stop her face from falling, but she couldn't quite disguise her disappointment.

'Sorry,' Ethel whispered guiltily.

'It isn't your fault,' Mildred assured her with a feeble smile, 'you tried at least.'

'Mind you...'

'What is it Ethel?'

'I don't know if this means anything,' Ethel started reluctantly, 'but the only place I can think of with that name is an old manor house about a mile due north of here. It's been abandoned for years, ever since the man who owned it died under mysterious circumstances, but I am sure that it was called Berrywood.' Mildred's heart leapt in her chest, doing somersaults to the point where she felt almost dizzy from happiness; hope was the greatest drug the body could make use of.

'Thank you, Ethel, you have no idea how much I owe you right now.'

'I'll remind you one day,' joked Ethel with the flash of a genuine smile.

'Mildred?' she called just as Mildred turned to leave.

'Yes?'

'Good luck.'

Xxx

The headmistress and Mildred slipped without a sound out of the front door and half ran to the broom shed, taking the first two brooms they could find. Miss Cackle had summoned their travelling cloaks and, knowing that Cathy Starling would soon be on their tail, they had decided to leave with haste.

'Are you sure you want to do this, Mildred?' Miss Cackle asked for what had to be the fourth time.

'Yes,' Mildred said with unquestionable certainty.

'It will be dangerous,' she coaxed.

'I know,' Mildred admitted rolling her eyes, 'but I can't stay here, not knowing that she's all alone out there somewhere.' The headmistress gave a quick nod. She would never admit it, but she felt almost reassured knowing that Mildred would accompany her. With a swift nod they mounted their brooms, flying into the relentless night with little more to guide them than the obliging light of the moon. Fortunately, the rain had ceased and the clouds which had tainted the perfect sky had waned, leaving a bright and clear night still smelling fresh from the recently fallen precipitation.

'How will we know where to go?' Mildred called to the headmistress as the wind whipped her loose hair around her face.

'Ethel said that, wherever this place is, it is a mile due north. We should head in that direction for about ten minutes and then I will use a tracking spell to try and locate Miss Hardbroom.'

Mildred nodded to show that she understood. She was more terrified than she had ever been before, though she did not fear for herself. Whatever connection she had to her form mistress meant that, from time to time, she could feel what she felt or know what she knew. Now she could neither hear nor feel nothing. Mildred could feel Miss Hardbroom's pain ever present like a stinging in the back of her skull, but she felt nothing else from her; it scared her more than knowing Miss Hardbroom was afraid.

After the longest ten minutes of her life, the older witch signalled to Mildred telling her to slow down. Their brooms hovered over a heavily wooded area, though they were too high up to distinguish much between the blackened trees.

'Can you see anything?' Amelia asked her pupil. Mildred looked down amongst the trees and noticed an unusual shimmer, a deep blue light which faded in and out of focus lying where the thick blanket of trees broke to form an open circle.

'There, Miss,' she pointed out, 'there's some sort of magical force field, though I can't tell what it is.'

'You're right. Let's land beside it,' Miss Cackle instructed her and they sailed slowly down from their altitude to land between the trees.

At ground level, the manor was easy to see through the dancing shadows of the trees. It rose tall and loomed over even the grandeur of the forest, something menacing seeming to emanate from its old and crumbling walls. The windows were all covered with black boards and there were several tiles missing from the roof. It looked like the sort of building which had once been used for a prison or mental institution and had been left once vacated for time to kill as it passed unyieldingly. Miss Cackle didn't need to know what the house was to know that no happiness had ever resided within its walls, and even in the warm summer's night she felt a shiver run down her spine.

Part of the manor house seemed, every now and then, to shimmer that deep electric blue Mildred had seen from her position on her broom. It was as though a force of magic had shrouded just one room of the vast house, and Mildred swallowed; she knew which room it would be.

'How do we get in?'

Both witches left their brooms discarded underneath a weeping willow tree and made their way to the other side of the house. The door was hanging from its hinges, a once grand and regal doorway appearing more now like the entrance to a house of horrors. Pushing past the door, they came to a long baron entrance hall with only an old and upturned broken table to give an indication that anyone had ever been there. The walls and floors were made of stone, causing even their cautious footsteps to echo dangerously. Mildred led the way, walking down the endless corridors and barely finding the courage to breathe; she was surviving on adrenalin alone.

Turning a corner, both Mildred and Miss Cackle froze. They saw the entrance to a room on the right side of the corridor swathed in blue light, energy so powerful it audibly crackled in the otherwise soundless air. Mildred's eyes widened as she saw Hecketty Broomhead standing before the door attacking it with the full force of her magic to try and break through. She worked it out quickly. Miss Hardbroom had somehow managed to seal herself into a room, leaving Hecketty on the other side of her magical barrier fighting to get in. She was safe, for now, but how safe could she truly be with a baby on the way? Was she even conscious in there?

Her thoughts were interrupted as Hecketty realised the two people present before her and turned to Miss Cackle and Mildred, her face contorted into a snarl of rage. The magic she had been casting dissipated from her fingertips until she was ready to cast again, to send white hot bolts of energy at the two intruders.

'Ah,' Hecketty bellowed, 'the two saviours come to rescue the princess from her prison, I should have known. I would almost admire your courage...if, of course, it wasn't for your stupidity. I would not count on a happy ending to this particular fairytale.' Mistress Broomhead laughed and cast a spell without needing the words, sourcing the power merely from the energy of her madness.

The last thing Mildred saw before she closed her eyes was the imminent bolt of white light about to hit her, and her last thought was that there was nothing that she could do to stop herself from dying.

Xxx

Miss Hardbroom's eyelids flickered, though the images relinquished to her meant nothing. She was aware of her pain, the agony which seemed to be a part of her as much as anything else, and that she was lying uncomfortably on the cold stone of the floor. Without even trying, Constance knew that she couldn't move and did not want to risk the pain of trying. She had woken for a reason, that she knew, and as she felt the presence of two others in the house her heart skipped a beat. They had come. Someone, somewhere, had come for her, and she had been woken to let them into her sanctuary.

Constance raised her head a few inches from the floor to try and see where she was, but her vision was still too blurred to make out more than rough shapes all merging together like an impressionist's painting. She closed her eyes and raised her right hand above the ground, aiming her casting fingers in the general direction of where she felt the two presences to be. Dare she hope that she knew who they were? No, for now there was only one objective. Moving her other arm was painful and difficult, though she cradled her stomach for a blissful moment as she accepted that she did not know what this would do to her. She knew that she was weak, barely able to keep her eyes from closing, and the magic she was about to attempt was complex; anything could happen.

Channelling her magic, Constance screamed out in the burning agony of fire and hell itself, which replaced any other thought which had resided in her mind. The stream of blue light reached the door and used its force to pull in the two people standing outside, who both thought at that moment that they were going to die. They didn't know what it really felt like to be dying.

With the knowledge that they were safe and appearing in the room, Constance fell back. Her head hit the floor hard and everything went black, but as the world faded to nothing she saw two figures approaching her and knew that, somehow, at least one of the two dying people in the room would survive. Constance tried everything to stay conscious, tears forming in her eyes as she struggled to keep her chest moving and strove to open her eyes once more. She lost her battle and was swallowed into the depths of a new hell, one of uncertainty and darkness.

Xxx

Opening her eyes, Mildred heard the sound of another's screams. She realised that, somehow, they had moved into the room Hecketty had been trying so hard to penetrate and relief that she was not going to die came to her like a wave of joy; it was short lived to say the least. It was Miss Hardbroom who had been screaming just with the effort of casting, the lingering path of her magic still present in the air. She was the reason that both she and Miss Cackle were alive.

Mildred gave a small scream herself and staggered backwards until she collided with the wall, her hand over her mouth. Miss Hardbroom was lying on the floor, one hand across her bump and one lying next to her on the floor. Spatters of blood surrounded her head where it had hit the floor when she had no longer had the energy to lift it and her skin was less than pale, her lips tinged a strange and terrifying blue. Mildred had not known what she expected to find when they had arrived, but she had never even considered this. A terrible voice spoke in the back of her mind, spoken in her form mistress' familiar tone:

_I'm going to die_

Amelia couldn't bear it. She had seen Constance fallen before, but now more than ever she seemed beyond hope. As soon as she had realised where they both were, Amelia had fallen to her deputy's side. Holding her freezing wrist in her hand, she tried desperately to feel for a pulse but could not find even the faintest beat beneath the pearly white skin. She was unable to tell if Constance was breathing at all, though the coloured hue to her lips filled her heart with dread. She had done it again. She had risked her life to save them, to get them to her and away from harm when they had been the ones trying to save her.

Even now that they were there, Amelia could not shake the sense that they were in even more danger than before. None of them knew how to deliver a baby, let alone revive a woman on the brink of an unspeakable fate; they were truly alone, with darkness knocking forcefully at the door. From the corner of her eye, the headmistress saw Mildred stumble against the wall and could not blame her for doing so. No warning was preparation for this anarchy. They were caught in limbo, a place where right and wrong had long since departed and there was nothing to do but wait and pray; it was becoming ever harder to hold on to what hope they could muster.

Unable to think of quite what to do, Amelia allowed her tears to fall and brushed Constance's long hair from her porcelain face. The headmistress refused to believe that her deputy was gone. Even if it appeared that way, she knew that Constance would never give up that easily; she was still there, locked behind her own terrible weakness and fighting as she always had.

Whatever happened, no matter how close she saw her dear friend wander to the precipice of death, Amelia refused to believe the terrible truth: that everyone is mortal and everyone is doomed to the same fate. Some die without dignity, alone and tired of the effort of waking every morning; yet some die with honour and purpose. They sacrifice themselves for others with a selfless heart, refusing to let those without morals win and die a noble death for those who they love the most; those are the people who are never forgotten.

Constance seemed eerily peaceful, and though it terrified Amelia beyond what she thought was possible, it was easier than listening to the shattering sound of her screams. At least now, if only for a short time, she could rest and not have to suffer the pain which plagued her every waking moment without mercy. She wanted to ease the agony Constance was forced to endure, though Amelia did not know the price that peace would come to cost. If she could have taken the pain Constance felt and survived it for her then of course she would, though she got the strong impression that Constance would never let another fall on her behalf.

Amelia stroked Constance's cheek with the back of her hand and sighed heavily. She had never realised what this woman had come to mean to her; nothing less than everything in the world.

'We came,' she whispered. 'It took us a while, but we came. I'm here, Constance, and I will never leave you. You're strong enough to beat this, to fight it and win, but you have to believe it.' Amelia's hand snaked into Constance's and gripped tightly, squeezing in a reassurance which, she thought sadly, probably meant nothing to her.

'I believe in you,' she added, a solemn smile creeping across her face. 'I love you, like the beautiful daughter I never had, and I am so proud of you. I swear to you, on my life, that I am never letting go.'

She felt it, for the briefest of seconds but with a certainty that she could not deny; Constance squeezed her hand in reply.

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><p><strong>Yes, it is another cliffhanger, but come on it isn't as bad as some of my others :) <strong>

**Little taster of what is to come in case I don't update for a while, though I will try my best!**

**Hecketty is not pleased at being left out of the loop, there's a baby on the way and a sneaky brew from a few chapters ago makes a reappearance...**

**Thanks for reading!**

**xxx**


	23. Chapter 23

**Now I did promise an update soon and this was sooner than intended, so please forgive a few...poetic licensing devices which have worked their way into this chapter. Trust me, without them there would have been serious delay and stressful logistical nightmares!**

**I have wanted to write this chapter for a long time, and I didn't know how it was going to end until I finally wrote it. The main event of the chapter (you will see in a bit, it will make sense!) is probably inaccurate as whatever I hope to be I am not yet a doctor and funnily enough it wasn't actually the most important part!**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, your reviews made my day! Not sure how this turned out as I say but I couldn't stop writing until I finished and felt that if I didn't publish it now then the world would implode or something. Not my longest, but does bring this fic up to 100,000 words! **

**Warning about slightly graphic scenes of...well that would be telling! But it's not that nice even if it is quite brief. Plus there are some themes not for the very faint hearted.**

**I have rambled enough, so enjoy the chapter and let me know what you think as I have no idea! I just know it's going to be a busy week so I thought I would upload now. Anyway, *shut up me!* Enjoy!**

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><p><strong>Chapter 23<strong>

Each second seemed to last forever. Amelia sat, her hand entwined with Constance's and her thumb gently stroking the skin of her bony fingers. She was a patient woman. Over the many years that she had been a teacher, she had sat and waited on a number of occasions without so much as raising her voice, sometimes for hours on end. Her unflappable nature had been tested throughout her life, yet in times of crisis Amelia had always been the one who stood back and stayed calm, willing things to begin to unfold independently with her only there to give a helping hand.

But sitting beside Constance now, silence bearing down on the room like the suffocating pillow which covers an innocent face, Miss Cackle could barely keep herself from falling apart. She wanted to scream and shout, to pull Constance back into the waking world whether she wanted to return or not; the words had even formed on her lips more than once. Of course, she knew that it would do nothing more than add to the chaos which already enshrouded the situation playing out before her. It was selfish to want the security of truth and comfort, but she had to remember that there was someone else in the room who was surely more frightened than herself.

'M-Miss?' Mildred stuttered. She was sitting only a few feet away from the older witches, resting her head on her knees which she held close to her chest; despite herself, she was shaking uncontrollably like the frostbitten leaves falling from the last winter branches.

Amelia turned her head to look at her pupil and tried with all of the will in the world to force a smile which could never come.

'Yes Mildred?'

'What's happening?' It was such a simple question, yet the headmistress found that there was no simple answer. There was what she thought was happening, what she forced her mind to believe even though her rational consciousness told her it was nothing more than childish hopes; was that what Mildred longed to hear?

'She's going to be fine,' Miss Cackle lied less than convincingly, though with a genuine sense of hope which Mildred accepted with a nod. It was what they both wanted to believe.

'Why w-won't she wake up?' Mildred could barely recognise her own voice. It sounded like an infant who couldn't understand why their pet fish would no longer swim effortlessly around the bowl, but floated upside down at the top of the water.

'I think she is trying to,' Amelia told her honestly. 'It's just...taking some time, that's all.'

Mildred knew better than to ask further questions, as she sensed that the headmistress barely understood herself what was taking place. She had heard what she needed to, that Miss Hardbroom was hanging on and that she would, in time, open her eyes and grace the waking world with her presence. She believed that, even if Miss Cackle could not possibly know if the potions teacher would be alright, she had been truthful when she had informed her that Miss Hardbroom would wake; or maybe she just had to believe it, for the sake of her sanity.

Mildred watched with a quizzical stare as the headmistress bent a little closer to Miss Hardbroom and whispered something to her, as though she was talking normally to someone she knew as a friend.

'Do you think that she can hear you?' Mildred asked gently. She saw a sad smile ghost across her teacher's face.

'I think so,' she told Mildred with a wistful tone of voice, 'I hope so. I don't know if anything I say will make a difference, but I like to think that it is, in some way, a comfort to her.'

Swallowing, tears threatened Mildred's eyes once more. Miss Cackle was talking as if she was already gone; as though Miss Hardbroom was slowly slipping away to a certain fate which lay in the not too distant future. Was there something she knew that Mildred didn't? Even if she eventually woke, then there were no guarantees. Miss Hardbroom still had the astronomical task ahead of her of delivering a baby in a baron room with no help, no doctors and a dragon breathing fire at the door. Thinking about it, Mildred could not help but feel a sense of damnation about the horrific place they were trapped in.

'Mildred?' Miss Cackle looked at her with a motherly concern, a simple question which meant far more than just gauging the young girl's attention. It was a gesture of kindness, as such was always the headmistress' way, to check if someone who should not have to bear such a great burden was really as alright as they pretended to be.

'I'm fine Miss Cackle,' sighed Mildred, 'I'm just worried for Miss Hardbroom.'

'Yes...' Amelia trailed off, lost in thought for a moment. 'Why don't you try saying something to her?'

'What! I don't...I mean...what would I say?'

'Anything that comes to mind,' Amelia suggested and gave a brief yet empty chuckle, 'she might listen to you.'

'I doubt it,' Mildred replied with a shy smile.

'Oh I don't know; she might surprise you.'

Something Miss Bat had told her no more than an hour ago played on Mildred's mind and, though her heart seemed to beat strongly in protest, she moved slightly closer to her potions mistress. In the lonely silence of the room, time seemed to stand still. More than once, Mildred opened her mouth to speak yet knew before the words formed at her lips that they weren't the right ones to choose. She still couldn't shake the feeling of being forced to say goodbye...

'Miss?' she finally croaked, 'Miss Hardbroom?' She didn't know quite what to expect as she knelt down beside the deputy headmistress, but the soundless echo which followed her words seemed so wrong and so without hope that it was difficult to bear.

'I...' She tried to think of what to say, something which would make her feel less as though the world was falling apart around her; in her heart she knew that there was only one thing that she could tell Miss Hardbroom.

'I'm sorry,' she whispered, with the delicate air of a petal floating in the wind. 'Ever since you've known me, I have ruined everything. I'm not clever, or skilled or even remotely powerful; you were right about me all along.'

'I should have done something, anything to try and help you but I just let h-her take you,' Mildred sobbed, the words that had been chained within her, that had longed to be spoken, finally breaking free.

'You have always at least tried to help me,' she continued, 'and I just let you go.'

'Mildred,' Miss Cackle interrupted softly, though Mildred was too consumed by her own self loathing to notice.

'I thought that there was nothing that I could do, but that was a lie. I watched as you disappeared, I didn't even try...I'm sorry.' Mildred placed her quivering hand onto where Miss Hardbroom's lay across her abdomen; she sat bolt upright when she felt thin fingers move beneath her own. Mildred jumped to her feet and backed away a few steps before clapping a hand to her mouth. She could see Miss Hardbroom's hands moving, her chest rising and falling with a clarity that had been lost since they had arrived. Her eyes began to open, a low and feeble moan escaping the tinged lips of her form mistress; Miss Hardbroom was waking up.

Amelia had to admit that even she had doubted her own assurances. No matter how many times she had told herself that she would see Constance wake, part of her had refused to believe that such a thing was possible. She had fallen so many times, been dragged to hell and halfway back; Amelia couldn't have blamed her for wanting to move on. Yet she should have known, and cursed herself for not truly believing, that Constance would not give up the fight. Not yet.

'Constance?' Amelia called, gripping her deputy's hand tightly in her own. Without saying the words, that firm and loyal grip told her; she was there. She wasn't going anywhere. To see those deep brown eyes looking back at her once more was both a comfort and a curse. Miss Cackle had longed more than anything else in the world to see those eyes again; yet the shimmer of fear which lay embedded in the once bright and authoritative stare was deeply concerning.

Constance waited patiently for a moment as her eyes adjusted to the dim light, watching as Amelia's terrified face came into view. She couldn't deny that she felt better for seeing her there, though she didn't want to have to drag anyone else into what was becoming the final hurricane ensnaring every aspect of her life; the knowledge that Mildred was there too was almost heartbreaking. Constance had not wanted anybody else to be hurt by her own actions, or at least those actions intended for her and her alone. Although part of her knew that without the help of the two women in the room she would be lost and alone, Constance was sure that by them simply being there they were endangering their lives for her. It was something that she despised her own weakness for causing. If nothing else, she would make sure that the risks they were taking were nothing more than that: risks.

She tried to speak, though her throat was dry the effort seemed too much for her struggling form to cope with. Constance pushed meekly against Amelia's hand trying to force herself into sitting position, but her body would not move more than a few inches. Silently, she felt Amelia's arm move around her back and support her as she tried once again to move; it was a gesture for which she would be forever grateful.

This time, she managed to raise her head above the ground and move her arms to support herself. Though she could feel Amelia's hovering presence, ready to catch her at the first indication of falling, Constance said nothing; it was oddly reassuring.

'Mildred,' Amelia said quietly, 'could you get Miss Hardbroom some water?'

Mildred looked around the room, but saw no source of water anywhere. Sighing heavily, she tried to remember the spell she had learnt more than two years ago about conjuring water in a glass, but her mind was foggy. She breathed deeply, trying hard to concentrate and found that the words came with ease; confidence and control.

_Aquam producer_

_Glass sanitatis..._

Constance heard the words of the spell being muttered and her blood ran colder than ice.

'Mildred,' she rasped, though the words sound more like a feeble cough, 'Mil-'

_...Reficere et servite_

_Daret mihi aquam_

Mildred could not contain her surprise when a tall, clear glass appeared in her hand and filled immediately with cool and refreshing water. A genuine smile came across her face for a moment as she realised that she wasn't a complete failure.

And then the screaming came.

It was like no sound she had ever heard. At once the glass slipped through her fingers and shattered on the floor, spilling water across the stone flagons which seeped like blood through the cracks into the unknown. It took a moment for Mildred to register what was actually happening around her.

She looked at the headmistress, whose arm was gripping Miss Hardbroom tightly around the shoulders as she doubled over in what must have been considerable pain. It appeared to Mildred as if Miss Hardbroom was glowing, an ethereal blue haze glistening like an aura around her potions mistress and fluctuating every time the woman cried out louder in agony. Backing away, Mildred didn't have the faintest idea what was going on, and she didn't want to know. She just wanted the warm embrace of her mother.

Constance had known that it was coming as soon as Mildred had begun to cast the spell, though she didn't know it would feel like this. She could sense every magical spark in her body crackling with the energy it harnessed, burning her skin with its ferocity and forcing her to scream with the unyielding agony. Although she knew that it could only last a few seconds at most, the spell cast barely powerful enough to linger in the air at all, the shock to her system was enough to make it seem far longer.

As the burning died down Constance let go of the terrible sound which had filled the air and her body went slightly limp, her chest heaving with the effort of staying conscious. She couldn't speak. She felt Amelia take her weight and gently move her so that she could prop herself up against the nearest wall and felt tears of gratitude in her eyes; she always knew what to do. Her vision blurred, darkness taking over for a moment before she pulled herself back; she was not going back into the depths of hell, not now.

'Wh-what...' Mildred started, shaking too much for her words to hold any feeling or authority at all.

'Vim praesidium,' Amelia explained simply, though she had only just realised it herself. Mildred gave her a questioning look.

'Miss Hardbroom cast a spell over this room, a very powerful protection spell to keep Mistress Broomhead out and her locked away in here,' Amelia began. 'Her magic controls this protective field, so she could let us in whilst keeping her out. Unfortunately...'

'Using magic within its protection disrupts the spell,' Constance continued weakly, still breathing heavily with her head lolling dangerously though her eyes were bright with knowledge, 'causing the person in control to take the brunt of its weight. It's...not the most pleasant of experiences I have to say.'

'I'm sorry,' Mildred cried out, realising what she had done, 'I...I didn't...' But Miss Hardbroom shook her head with certainty.

'You weren't to know,' she assured Mildred. 'I wasn't sure of its exact effects myself until a few moments ago, though I wouldn't advice on attempting it again soon.' Mildred nodded to show her understanding, though she still couldn't shake the echoes of Miss Hardbroom's screams from her ears.

'And Mildred?' The young girl looked up from where her eyes had been fixed on the floor.

'Yes?'

'There is _nothing_ that you need to apologise for,' Miss Hardbroom assured her. 'Do I make myself clear?' Mildred nodded and understood at once; her potions mistress had heard her.

Xxx

'We have to get you out of here,' Amelia announced with finality, but Constance shook her head again.

'Impossible,' she replied simply, trying not to make it obvious how difficult it was even to talk.

'There has to be something that we can do,' the headmistress insisted, though her heart told her that Constance had already thought of every possibility.

'The only way we can all get out is to let Hecketty in, which would prove perhaps more disastrous than just staying here,' Constance said matter-of-factly.

'Could one of us not go out and find a doctor and then come back?' Mildred suggested. She could have sworn that she saw a flicker of a smile across Miss Hardbroom's face before she replied; she had the feeling that it was false hope.

'I am afraid that there is not enough time for that,' Constance replied, moving one of her hands to her abdomen.

Constance felt another contraction rip through her body, though the pain was enough that she could bite down on her lip to prevent another scream escaping her lips. She could feel them coming ever faster, though they were not always as severe as the one which was now invading both her body and her mind. She didn't want to admit that she was scared, but it was hard to deny something which was slowly becoming part of her; her trembling hands gave her heart away.

Watching with tears in her eyes, Amelia wondered how much more of this she could stand to watch. Constance had fallen silent, her face losing what colour it had managed to claw back and the way her eyes were fixed to a point on the floor told her all that she needed to know. She hated to see her in such pain, but there was nothing that they could do. Constance had made it clear, without saying herself, that they were trapped and there wasn't anything that they could do about it.

It passed, for a moment at least, and Constance let out a breath that she didn't know she had been holding.

'Constance, are you-'

'I am perfectly fine,' Constance lied as blatantly as it was possible to do so. Amelia could swear that she heard her mutter:

'But I don't know how much more of this I can take...'

Constance felt something rise in her throat and coughed into her open palm. Her eyes widened slightly as she saw the ruby spatters across her hand, though in less than a second she cleared her throat and with it the bitter metallic taste, curling her palm into a fist; she wasn't about to give up just yet.

'Constance?' Amelia looked at her with eyes which were disbelieving. She knew when something was wrong, she could always tell, though Constance was hardly about to inform her of what she feared to be the truth; that as a new life was arriving, hers was ending.

'It's nothing,' Constance insisted, though without the conviction even for herself to believe it. Amelia sat beside Constance, turning to face the deputy headmistress in such a way that their conversation could be private. Mildred took the hint at once without even a thought of envy, taking the opportunity to sit down and gather her muddled thoughts.

'I won't let you pretend that you're alright,' Miss Cackle stated simply. It was a relief to see the hint of a smile in the twitching corners of Constance's mouth, though one which was greatly short lived.

'I don't think I have the energy to pretend anymore,' Constance replied honestly, her deep, sad brown eyes looking right into Amelia's.

'Are you in pain?' The frankness of the question caught Constance off guard and though she began to try and defend herself, she simply let out a deep sigh.

'I cannot quite remember a time when I have not been,' she revealed in a low tone. She took a moment, concentrating on the rise and fall of her heavy chest. Constance could feel perspiration building on her forehead, knowing with a pang of selfish vanity how she must look; she could allow herself that much at least.

'Oh Constance,' Amelia sighed, resisting the almost overwhelming urge to pull her into a close and gentle hug.

'It's fine,' Constance breathed in a tone which epitomised tiredness; her words were becoming more and more laboured. 'I knew how it was going to be when the time finally came and it has. There is nothing that anyone can do about it.'

'But I can't bear to see you like this,' Amelia told her, with the tone of a frightened child searching for answers which would never come and begging for purpose. 'I can't watch you suffer; I can't stand by doing nothing when I know you are in pain. What sort of person would I be if I just let you carry on this way without batting an eyelid?'

Amelia lifted Constance's chin with her finger so that their gazes met; the potions mistress' eyes were swimming with unshed tears.

'I couldn't bear to see you cry.'

For a moment, Constance considered offering her own void words of comfort, but she couldn't think of what to say. She slowly turned her head away and cleared her throat, tasting the repulsive metallic tang within her mouth as she did so. Without thinking, she wiped her burning forehead with her hand before laying it protectively over her aching stomach. If this was all for nothing, she wasn't sure that she would have lasted this long; but this fight had a cause, and she would see it won if it was the last thing that she did.

'I'm sorry, Mildred,' Constance said after some time. Surprised to hear her name surface after what, she had guessed, had been such a personal conversation, Mildred's head jerked from where it had been resting in her hands.

'What for Miss Hardbroom?' Constance shook her head lightly.

'I should not have dragged you into this. As a teacher I am supposed to protect my students and instead I have put you at risk, and for that I am sorry,' she apologised with a hint of the most heartfelt regret.

'Oh Miss,' Mildred assured her, 'it isn't your fault.'

'It is,' Miss Hardbroom contradicted her. 'You were worried about me even before now, more so than anyone else in the entire school; with the obvious exception. I took advantage of your caring nature and imaginative mind to form a connection with you, which is why you knew to come here in the first place. It was selfish...'

'No,' Mildred insisted, getting to her feet, 'it was wise. Had you done it to anyone else I would still have wanted to come, or found some way to get here myself and you did nothing wrong. A call for help is hardly a crime.' Constance was surprised at her reasoned argument, and felt a stab of pride in her slowing heart; yet it could not unsettle her concern.

'Even so, I shouldn't have made you come here.'

'I came of my own accord, nobody forced me. I made the decision myself Miss Hardbroom and I wasn't going to leave you here on your own. Nobody deserves to be alone when they're scared.'

Sensing that it would be easier to concede the battle to the third year pupil, Constance nodded her head lightly.

'Thank you, Mildred.'

What had been a defining moment between a teacher and pupil who, until then, had never quite understood each other was soon cut short. The entire room began to shake, as though a hurricane had engulfed the entire building or an earthquake was destroying the manor's very foundations. Mildred screamed, running into the nearest corner as a small dusting of stone fell from the ceiling and the walls grumbled dangerously, threatening to fall apart.

'What...' Amelia started, stumbling awkwardly to her feet.

'It's her,' Constance realised in an instant. How could she do such a thing? She would risk the lives of them all just to get into this room, even knowing full well that they were trapped. The renewed anger bubbling in her blood took over her sense of weakness and, if only for a while, she forgot about the pain which throbbed with every bone in her body.

'Amelia,' she said sharply. The headmistress looked at her, dust which floated down from the ceiling falling on top of her grey hair.

'Do you trust me?' It was a question that had never needed to be asked. If there was anything that Amelia knew in this uncertain time, when everything was being called into question and the world was being turned upside down, it was that she had never trusted anyone as much in her life. Constance could ask her to jump from a cliff at the biting sea's edge and she wouldn't even ask her why. The faith she had in the incredible woman before her was unyielding, stronger than any religion she had ever believed in. If nothing else, Amelia believed in her.

'Always,' she answered simply. Constance's eyes were grateful and she lifted her aching arm into the air.

'Take my hand,' Constance asked, her voice rasping as she felt another surge of blood tickle the back of her throat. As soon as the headmistress's fingers entwined with hers, she felt the surge of magic like a bolt of electricity running through her body. Concentrating hard, she breathed out slowly and allowed her mind to channel her magic once more in the direction of the trembling door.

The room gave a dangerous jolt before becoming still once more, the door glowing deep blue for a moment before fading back into its rightful shade of mahogany. Mildred dared to look through the fingers which had covered her eyes and saw that, although the floor was covered with a thin film of dust, it was still standing. She breathed a sigh of relief.

Amelia opened the eyes which had been forced closed as the jolt had knocked her back, forcing her to lose her grip of Constance's hand and fall crashing to the floor. Despite a sore arm where she had landed less than gracefully, she picked herself up with ease and her eyes darted immediately to Constance.

Although fully conscious, Constance could not deny that the exchange of magic had weakened her further. Her head tilted back, resting against the grey stone as her chest heaved with every breath; each was becoming steadily harder to take. She felt a twinge across her abdomen, feeble in comparison to what she had already been through yet enough to cause discomfort.

'Constance are you-' Amelia asked but an almost icy stare silenced her at once. Constance felt the twinge more strongly now, a sign that the hourglass would soon run empty.

'There isn't much time,' Constance said finally, ignoring Miss Cackle's questioning glare.

'It's coming?' Mildred asked in her panic, only realising afterwards the stupidity of the question. She rose from where she had been crouched in the corner and came over to where her potions mistress lay, starting to look more and more like a dying woman on her deathbed. Mildred pushed the thought from her mind. Constance nodded:

'Now,' she replied. With that simple word she felt her baby move and bring a jolt of pain which flashed all the way to her heart, causing her to gasp in shock.

'Oh God...Constance,' Amelia's face went as white as a sheet as she gazed down at her deputy. Mildred turned away, unable to bear the sight before her. Constance looked down and saw it for herself, even daring to feel, for the first time, slightly worried for her own wellbeing. It had started off as only a few drops of red which marred the clean virgin white of her nightgown, but as she watched in horror it began to grow slowly until she could feel the blood soak through the white material in the area close to the bottom of her bump.

'It's fine,' Constance insisted, though her voice was shaking.

'How can it be?' Amelia cried, 'you're bleeding!'

'Yes,' she admitted, 'but I expected as much. It just means that she needs to come out, as soon as poss-' Her speech was drowned as another contraction took over her body and she doubled over in pain.

Mildred turned to face the headmistress and Miss Hardbroom, trying to hide the terror fixed in her eyes.

'What can I do?' she asked.

'You can use an emergency spell to...to get some...supplies,' Constance breathed, trying to force her way through the pain. Amelia's hand had found its way into her own as she sat beside her and Constance clung onto it with a reluctant desperation.

'But...' Mildred stuttered, 'but it hurts you. You are barely in a fit state to do what you're doing already let alone-'

'Mildred, I know what I am capable of,' Constance insisted, on the brink of shouting in frustration.

'I don't think-' tried Miss Cackle, but one look from Constance asking her to trust her once more told her to fall silent.

'Go on, Mildred,' Amelia said reassuringly, giving her permission.

Reluctantly Mildred began to cast, knowing that for this spell it really was the feelings that mattered rather than the words. As she completed the spell she watched as towels, blankets, warm water and a small first aid kit appeared on the floor.

'Well that is going to be very useful,' she murmured in disbelief, though remembering Miss Hardbroom she turned on her heel to see how the potions mistress was coping.

Constance had one hand over her throbbing abdomen and another gripping Amelia's tightly, her breathing slow and erratic as perspiration ran down her forehead and stroked the side of her face. She had been more prepared for the effects of the magic, but as she prepared to deliver her daughter she could feel her body beginning to fail her and she didn't know how much time she had left.

Another contraction burst through the dull ache of her body and this time Constance could not stifle a cry. Her grip on Amelia's hand tightened considerably, her only friend in what was soon becoming a very lonely world.

'No...time...' she breathed, each word another battle. She looked up at the headmistress with pleading eyes, ones which she betrayed everything she had ever stood for; she couldn't give less of a damn. Everything she had been was falling away, a butterfly emerging through the agony and leaving the restraints of a woman who had never even been able to say as much as a thank you before that day behind. There were far worse people to be than who she was at that very moment.

'Amelia' Constance wheezed almost desperately, 'would you?' She couldn't find the words to explain further, her impossibly white cheeks stinging hot and pink at the mere prospect of asking.

'You want me to...Are you sure?' Miss Cackle asked in disbelief.

'I...trust...you,' she managed. Amelia felt tears sting her eyes, but there was no time.

'Mildred,' the headmistress began, snapping at once into a more authoritative role. Her heart was pounding, the weight of what she was about to do playing heavily on her mind. Yet she knew its importance, the fact that life was at stake, so she could not allow herself to become distracted.

'Yes?'

'Could you hand me three of those towels please?' As Mildred fetched the towel, Amelia helped Constance manoeuvre away from the wall to give her more space to move. Even propped on her elbows Constance struggled to support herself, yet her pure fighting spirit kept her going; she had no choice but to stay awake and deliver her baby.

Taking the towels Mildred passed to her, Amelia covered Constance's blood soaked legs.

'What do you want me to do?' Mildred asked, trying to keep it together though her terror was more than evident in her trembling voice.

'Mildred, you're going to have to be very brave,' Amelia warned her. Despite the fact that she could hear her heart thumping against her ribs, she nodded enthusiastically. She had never been more scared, yet the knowledge that she was needed was enough to keep her strong.

'I am going to have to deliver this baby. When I have done so, I will need you to clamp the umbilical cord and cut it where I tell you, do you understand?'

Mildred gave a swift nod.

'There will be some form of instrument in the first aid kit. Then, I need you to take the baby whilst I deliver the placenta. Is that alright?'

'Yes Miss,' Mildred assured the headmistress.

'Good. Now Constance, I'm going to have to...' Amelia started, not knowing quite how to phrase the awkward question.

'Just...just do it,' Constance rasped, letting out another cry as a powerful contraction caused her entire body to shake. Reluctantly, Amelia looked where no-one else had ever dared.

'Okay...I can see the head,' she announced. It was a miracle, yet one which was so cruel. In moments a new baby would be born, but already the woman who would bring it into the world was suffering for it. Blood was already pooling on the floor. Placing another towel which quickly soaked through with bright scarlet blood, Amelia knew that time was running out.

'Constance, on the next contraction you're going to have to push,' Amelia told her. Constance merely nodded and breathed heavily, taking in as much oxygen as she could in preparation. When the next contraction came, she ignored everything that her body was telling her to do and pushed as if it was the only thing in the world that she could do. Her limbs protested, everything burning and the agony as she felt her insides tear from the strain almost unbearable; Constance felt her mind leave her body for a moment and pure white spots danced before her eyes.

She pulled herself back, hyperventilating with sweat running down her face; it was the adrenalin of knowing that she was still alive which was keeping her going.

'You're nearly there,' Amelia encouraged her, watching as the baby's head came inches from breaking free, 'just one more push.' As the next wave of pain hit her, Constance enhanced it like a stimulant and screaming from the unquestionable agony she gave more than everything she had to make sure that her baby was brought into the world as quickly as possible.

It was the greatest release she had ever known; feeling her baby leave her and take its first breaths of new and brilliant air was nothing short of ecstasy. Constance gasped in the air which had escaped her lungs and her elbows buckled, so that her upper body fell in relief to the floor.

'It's a girl,' Amelia told her, tears welling in her eyes and falling as she held the small, bright red baby in her arms. She had a tuft of the darkest hair, her face radiating beauty like an angel sent from heaven. There were no words to describe her.

'I would hope so,' Constance said with a hint of dry sarcasm, though her eyes fluttered closed as the weakness which she had been avoiding decided to take its hold over her.

'Does she have a name?'

It was a question which had played on her mind for months, ever since she had found out that she was carrying a baby. Constance realised that she had always known what it would be, what it had to be, and she smiled as she heard the name ring in her mind. It was a name she had not heard in a very long time, yet which brought only joy to her heart.

'My mother's name,' she said wistfully, 'Destiny.'

'That's a beautiful name,' Amelia beamed, looking down into little Destiny's face and smiling. Mildred found a small clamp and scissors in the first aid kit and managed to clamp the cord, cutting it with some difficulty so that the baby girl could finally be free.

'Yes it is,' Constance agreed, 'Destiny Amelia Hardbroom.'

'Oh!' It was all the headmistress could manage to say. She felt the tears spills down her cheeks, tears of relief and of such unquestionable happiness despite the situation they were caught up in. It was such a simple thing, yet it meant more than Constance would ever know to her. Amelia's mind dared to flash forward into the future. She saw a young child with dark plaited hair, waving as she walked up to the castle with her witch's hat and broom...calling her Aunt Amelia.

With ease, the placenta slipped into the blood soaked towel and Amelia wrapped it away, putting it to one side. She dried her blood stained hands with yet another towel and watched with trepidation as the rest of Constance's body collapsed to the floor. Her hand found its way into Constance's, a gesture which meant more than just reassurance.

'Thank you,' Constance whispered, though her eyes refused to open. Amelia's smiling face fell slightly. The white nightdress was now more scarlet than the colour of a pure turtle dove and the floor was covered with pools of the deputy's blood. Her skin was so pale, so unbelievably pale, and her chest seemed to rise slower every time she took in breath.

'No, I should say thank you,' Amelia said, hoping that talking to her would keep her conscious, 'it's a great honour.'

'It's just a name...' answered Constance, though her expression seemed to become lost as the words escaped her mouth. Her chest stopped moving.

'Oh no,' the headmistress half shouted, furious tears running down her face, 'no you are not going to leave me yet. Not now don't you dare; I won't let you!'

'Miss...' a feeble voice called from the background.

'Constance...Constance wake up...'

'Miss!' Mildred cried in desperation.

'What is it?' Miss Cackle snapped more harshly than was intended.

'Destiny, she...she's not breathing, Miss Cackle.'

The room went silent, a silence which was never meant to fill a room. Amelia's hand slipped from the deputy headmistress' as she crawled over to where Mildred had been wiping Destiny's head with a damp towel; Mildred was right. Fear flooded her mind and rational thought left her. There was nothing to say, no words which could justify such horror. She didn't know what to do, neither of them did. Hell descended.

Xxx

Constance had been so close to the precipice that she had been sure she was to fall, and felt quite ready for it. The darkness had consumed her, her weakness becoming too much of a burden to bear. She had done her duty and given into it, almost gladly after the unrelenting agony which had been her entire life. She could see herself standing on the very edge of the world, her younger self with bright hopeful eyes and a young and beautiful face just waiting to be set free. Something had pulled her back.

The words had echoed, even through the last stages when life and death met as friends at the very end of the world: 'She's not breathing.' Constance knew that she had to go back; even if she had been promised to the dark sanctuaries of the world beyond, she would not go only to meet her daughter there.

Her eyes opened and breath screamed back into her lungs, the world so much more vivid when it had almost been ripped away. She refused to accept the fact that her body had been shattered, every part of her aching and crying out; her daughter needed her. Amelia watched Constance try to get up, falling to the floor almost at once but forcing her tired body to move again.

'No, Constance...' Amelia tried in vain, going to her deputy and putting a hand on her shoulder to hold her back. It was not a sight a mother should have to see.

'She...she needs...' Constance tried, but she wasn't strong enough to speak. Her body seemed beyond her control, refusing to move as she instructed it and slipping in the scarlet pools of her own blood.

'You need to rest,' Amelia insisted gently.

'No,' Constance shouted, pushing her forcefully aside and crawling towards her baby by dragging her non-compliant form with her hands.

She saw her, the perfect form lying still on the blanket. Her dark hair was still matted with wet blood though her face was clean, shining pearly white and as perfect as any person could be. Her hands were so small, curled into tiny fists that would never get the chance to open. It took Constance's breath away, the beauty of such a small and delicate creature; then why was it that her chest would not to rise and her heart refused to beat?

Sitting in front of her daughter, Constance stroked her baby's cheek with the back of a gentle finger and felt a shiver run down her spine. She was hers, her baby, her Destiny; how could life take that away from her? She had done everything to keep her safe, to give her life and save her from the clutches of the purest evil and yet some all powerful being had deemed it right to take an innocent child away before her life had even begun?

Her eyes had not even had the chance to open. She would never see the world that she had been born into, yet she had already made it a better place.

'No...' Constance whispered, shaking her head as the tears fell down her cheeks. It was beyond belief, beyond what was moral and good in the world. In that moment, she lost all faith in humanity.

'NO!' She screamed, pounding her hand hard against the stone floor and sobbing with the grief of a mother who had never had the chance, and for a child that had been her only hope.

'NO!'

There was no consoling her. Her world simply ended as the first light of dawn broke outside.

* * *

><p><strong>Do I need to crawl away and hide? Probably...it wasn't a very kind ending to a chapter I have to admit. Sorry HB!<strong>

**Ideas? Predictions? Rants? I would love to hear anything anyone has to say as it was a pretty big chapter.**

**There will be more to come and let's just say we haven't seen the last of Broomhead for the next chapter; HB is not happy and there is a bit of a clever get-out clause if I say so myself :)**

**Hope you enjoyed and it wasn't too badly written considering another 1am re-read**

**HBR **


	24. Chapter 24

***Peaks around corner* hello again :) I know it has been a while...ok that is putting it lightly but hey, not 2 months right!**

**I will say now that this chapter caused problems. I had the ideas, but it is rather complex, to write anyway, so there are parts that I am not 100% pleased with so be nice and bear with!**

**Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far and to Longvodka, who gave me some fab ideas for this chapter. **

**I will say no more, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 24<strong>

She couldn't tear her eyes away. It was as if there was nothing else in the world; not a person, not a sound, just her. She hadn't even been given a chance. So many people in the world were given opportunities they didn't deserve, ones they would waste and squander just because they could, and she hadn't even been allowed to see the world she had been born into.

Constance couldn't bear it. The pain which rose like fire in her body was already too much, a suffering far greater than anything physical she had endured. No-one can understand how a mother feels when she has lost her child. There is nothing like it in the world. To her it felt like part of her had died with Destiny, as if part of her soul had been ripped from her body and she could never be whole again. Life lost all of its pitiful meaning. There were no words which could comfort her, no shoulder to cry on; she was just lost.

Xxx

Amelia held Mildred in her arms, rocking her as tears fell down both of their cheeks.

'M-miss?' Mildred whispered hurriedly. The headmistress relaxed her grip slightly so that Mildred could turn to look at her. Her eyes were sparkling with what some would see as a glimmer of hope, though in reality was just frantic desperation.

'I remember reading somewhere, that if a baby isn't breathing when it's born...can't you tap their back? Could we not try that? We can't just give up, we can't.'

'Mildred,' Miss Cackle tried, watching sadly as the young girl became excited with a hope which could not have been more misplaced.

'Yes...I'm sure that's it! You just tap their back and then-'

'Mildred!' Amelia repeated a tad more forcefully, instructing her to listen. 'I'm afraid that it isn't going to be that simple.'

'But I can do it,' Mildred insisted, 'I can save her!' Miss Cackle shook her head gently.

'When a baby is born, even if they are on the very cusp of death, they have a visible aura...like their life force. Trained witches can sense this force, as it is particularly prominent in children. I'm sorry Mildred, I'm so sorry, but Destiny doesn't have one.'

'No...' Mildred said, refusing to believe what couldn't be true, 'no she must have.'

'If there was any chance, even the smallest hope that she could be saved, then she would have some sort of aura present. I am truly sorry Mildred, but I think...' Miss Cackle swallowed and whispered gently, 'I think that she's been gone for some time.' Mildred clung to Miss Cackle once more, aware of how hopeless the situation was that they were in, and let her overwhelming sadness take hold.

As she held tightly to Mildred Miss Cackle watched Constance struggle with every emotion, staring into the face of the baby which would never wake, and it broke her heart a thousand times over. She wanted to hold Constance and tell her that everything would be alright, but how could she lie to a woman who had lost everything?

'Constance?' she tried, but the younger woman did not seem to hear her. Whether it was because she didn't want to or simply because she couldn't, Constance ignored Miss Cackle's plea.

'Constance...you have to lie down. You're not well,' Amelia begged, staring at the small pool of blood which was gathering on the floor where the deputy headmistress sat and the way her face lost more of its colour with every painful second that passed.

'Please,' she cried,' listen to me!' The words rang around the empty room, the silence which followed as void of life as the look in Constance's eyes.

'Why,' she whispered, her voice rattling dangerously. 'Nothing matters anymore.'

'Oh Constance don't say that,' Amelia pleaded as her heart ached with love and sympathy for a woman who would never accept it.

But it was true. She would not ever have told anyone, but this was all that Constance had ever wanted. It was something she had never known completely, not like those who know exactly what they want in life from a very young age and strive endlessly to get it; but as soon as she had felt another heart beat alongside her own it had been as if her entire life had become clear. She had dreamt, every night when sleep had come to her, of holding a child in her arms who would look up at her without judging her for who she had to be or what she had done, only staring with love and adoration and the knowledge of who she truly was at heart.

She was so peaceful, so innocent and untainted; how could something so precious and so beautiful have come from her?

Xxx

It struck her faster than a bolt of lightning stabbing at the ground with its ferocious power. Though tears still slipped from her eyes, they were now ablaze with hope and knowledge. Constance wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and stroked Destiny's cheek.

_I would never let that happen to you. I couldn't. Just hold on for me baby please._

'Amelia,' Constance said, turning to look at the headmistress. Miss Cackle let Mildred go with an assuring smile and came to sit by Constance.

'What is it?'

'You said,' Constance breathed, fighting to stay conscious as darkness threatened the corners of her eyes, 'that you would always trust me.'

'I did,' Amelia agreed. Something in her heart didn't like where this was going.

'Did you mean it?' Her tone was so desperate, her eyes almost wild; but Amelia couldn't lie to her. It was the truth, and it always had been.

'Of course,' she replied.

'I need you to do something for me,' Constance asked her. 'I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important, but I need you to trust me. Will you do this for me? As...as a friend?' Amelia didn't think that she had ever heard Constance use that word before. It was alien to her lips, yet felt deeply genuine; something warm from a heart which must have been dying inside. She found herself faltering. She wanted to say yes, to grant her one thing after she had given so much to her, but a voice in the back of her head screamed at her not to. She should have listened to that voice.

'O...Ok,' Amelia muttered, nodding uncertainly. Constance slipped her trembling hand into the headmistress' and placed the other on her baby's head; at once, she started to glow a brilliant white.

'NO!' Amelia screamed, trying to release her hand from her deputy's tight grip; Constance was holding on fast.

'M-Miss? Miss what's going on?' Mildred cried, her eyes wide with panic.

'She...she's trying to channel her life force,' Miss Cackle tried to explain hurriedly, 'to give her life to her baby.'

'No...no Miss Hardbroom, you can't...' Mildred stuttered, though her mind was flooded with so many different thoughts and emotions. Though she knew it was wrong, part of her could understand her teacher's actions. After all, wouldn't every mother give her life to their child?

'You don't even know if it will work,' Amelia tried in desperate frustration, 'please don't do this.' Constance looked deep into the headmistress' eyes, a look of such wisdom and pleading that Amelia could not deny them.

'Wouldn't you?' she said simply. 'If it was someone you loved, someone who meant everything to you, would you not do exactly the same thing?' Amelia opened her mouth to protest, but she knew that Constance had won. Of course she would do the same, without even blinking an eye; she would give her life for Constance in an instant, but tears pricked her eyes as she realised she was about to let her give away her own.

'Tell me when,' she whispered defeated, her eyes wandering to the floor; she couldn't watch her die.

Constance took all of the magic within her body and channelled it to the very core of her soul. She could feel herself beginning to float away, her mind already wandering to a place where she had almost gone before. She was surprised as the hint of a smile touched the corners of her mouth: she would save her. She knew it, deep down; this was how it was meant to end. Pulling the depths of her life force from her soul she gasped in shock. It was like nothing she had ever experienced, holding something so powerful and delicate on which so much depended in her hands.

'Now,' she managed, the battle to stay awake now becoming ever harder to win.

Turning her head away, Miss Cackle took the newborn's tiny hand in her own. She was the binder, the channel through which Constance's energy must pass in order to be given to the child, and she completed the ring of three; a ring of power. She felt the energy like electricity running through her and couldn't help but let out a small shriek; it was as though, for a second, she could feel how powerful the younger witch was and she felt the tears come again as she realised what a waste it would be.

But something went wrong. Amelia felt the energy leave her and pass on into the baby, but as soon as the crackles had passed through her fingertips she felt something hot burn against her cheek and heard the terrified scream of her deputy. Opening her eyes, Amelia managed to turn her head just in time to see the fading remnants of a bright light and Constance's limp figure crashing against the back wall as if she had been thrown against it by an invisible force.

'Constance!' she screamed, scrambling to her feet and running over to where the deputy headmistress was and helplessly falling to her knees. The rational thoughts in her head told her not to mourn, that she was gone; it had been her choice and there was nothing that she could do about it. Her heart told her differently.

'Oh God,' she murmured. It was all her fault. She should never... Her train of thought was stopped dead in its tracks with a feeble moan. Constance's lips moved and her head turned, her eyes trying to open; it was impossible, beyond impossible, but it was playing out before the headmistress' eyes. Constance looked up at Miss Cackle, deep brown locking with warm grey, and she begged for answers which could not be given. Taking the offered hand, Constance forced herself into sitting position and tried to work out what had gone wrong. She felt hot tears roll down her cheeks.

'No...' she started, in pure disbelief, 'I should...I should have died. I was supposed to DIE!' She half shouted, as though angry that she had not been forced from existence.

'But you didn't,' Amelia reminded her, 'we should be grateful-'

'Grateful!' Constance shrieked. 'I was meant to die. I gave my life for her, for Destiny, so that she could have a chance. I couldn't even do that right...' Her voice trailed off and she broke, shattering like glass into thousands of pieces and finding herself wrapped in Amelia's arms. Every instinct told her to pull away, but she had lost the will to care. It had been her last hope.

'Miss!' Mildred exclaimed, breaking the deadly silence which had fallen over the room.

'What is it, Mildred?' Amelia asked gently.

'She's...waking up!'

Xxx

It took a moment for the words to truly sink in, a second where Amelia could only stare with mouth agape at the young student before her mind caught up and she could react. Letting go of Constance, she moved over to where Mildred and Destiny were and couldn't quite believe her eyes. Somehow, in a miracle which no-one would ever question, Destiny's bright blue eyes had opened and she was writhing on the blanket where she had been lying. The first gurgle of a cry echoed, bouncing of the walls and filling the room with a jubilant sound.

'Oh my God...' Amelia managed; it was all that she could say. It was impossible. It went against every concept of magic she had come to know and trust, against knowledge which had gone unquestioned since the first day she had attended training college; there was no rational explanation.

Somehow, the life force sacrificed willingly by Constance had been used to give life to both mother and daughter. When the essence of life itself is willingly sacrificed, regardless of whether it works in reviving another or not, Amelia had always believed that it would be the end; a fate no-one could come back from.

The headmistress looked down into the child's innocent eyes and wondered if, in some way, her power had saved Constance. She decided that she didn't want to know. Questioning a miracle only brings about its downfall, and Amelia was not about to lose both mother and child again. All that she did know, was this child was indeed powerful and with that power came a great and life threatening danger which was still knocking at the door.

Quickly checking that there was nothing wrong with the quietly wriggling child, Amelia wrapped Destiny loosely in two blankets to keep her warm and gathered her gently from the ground. Turning to Constance, who was staring in disbelief with tired and confused tears welling in her eyes as they begged for answers, Amelia let the first genuine smile pass across her lips for a very long time.

'Constance,' Amelia started, a weak but warm smile spreading across her face, 'would you like to hold your daughter?'

She couldn't breathe. She had cried, mourned for Destiny and grieved for her, yet there she was. Constance could only stare, as though watching through a pane of glass, as her mind could not quite accept what was happening. Yet as Amelia laid her daughter in her arms, Constance almost gasped in relief. It was real; it was happening before her, despite its impossibility, and she could finally hold her child close.

There were no words to express her gratitude. Her eyes were the brightest blue. She was perfect; more than perfect, she was an angel descended from heaven shining in the dim candle's light with an ethereal glow. There was a moment, one blissful moment, where mother and daughters' eyes locked and such love passed between them; a bond which could never be broken.

Destiny moved a little within her blankets, one of her arms breaking free from the hold of the blankets. Her tiny fingers grabbed at Constance's, pulling her mother's hand close to her chest as her eyelids grew heavy. She fell asleep to the sound of Constance's tired heart beating, the most comforting sound in the world.

Xxx

Constance watched her sleeping. She could have watched her forever. Her eyes concentrated on her baby's chest, making sure that it rose and fell with every breath; she was taking no chances. Amelia moved to sit beside Constance, resting her head back against the wall and letting out a deep, well earned sigh.

Constance's dark hair was resting across her shoulders, her head bent to watch her daughter sleep, though Miss Cackle could not help but notice the way her body trembled. She had been through so much. Amelia knew that there had been times when her worst fears had been close at hand, a coin hanging in the air which could land to favour either side; she wondered how the younger woman could cope with any of this at all.

Taking her disguarded cloak from the floor beside her, Amelia wrapped it gently around Constance's quivering shoulders and placed a comforting hand on her arm. A smile wavered on Constance's lips.

'Thank you,' she managed, the gratitude she could never express enough clear in her emotive tone of voice. 'For everything.'

Feeling something rise in her throat, she turned her head away from Destiny and coughed; rubies of glistening blood shimmered against the deathly pale flesh of her arm. Her smile faltered slightly, though she simply turned back to her daughter as though nothing had happened.

'You have to remember,' Amelia warned her warmly, 'that it is not just her that you have a duty to take care of; you have to take care of yourself.'

'I have all that I need right here,' Constance replied contentedly. She knew, of course, that her body had been failing her for some time. Her irregular heart was beating slower with each passing minute, though not a suggestion of it would appear on her face; she was happier than she had ever been, nothing would spoil this moment.

'I can't watch you like this,' Miss Cackle said suddenly, her hushed tone to protect Mildred from the pain of more concern. Constance slowly turned her head so their eyes met; hers were so deep and warm, so ignorantly happy, that it pained Amelia to have to burst such a fragile bubble. Yet she could not bear to see what was unfolding before her, tragedy hidden behind the lies of a heart-warming picture.

'Amelia-'

'No, Constance,' the headmistress insisted, 'I know how much of a shock this must be, after everything; but you look so pale, so weak and I just can't bear it anymore. You need to sleep, to rest and to get to a doctor before...oh God I don't even know what.'

Constance took her quivering hand from where it had been resting and placed it lightly on Amelia's arm.

'You don't need to worry about me,' she assured the older woman gently. 'I know what I am doing, even if it doesn't seem that way at the moment; there's something that I have to do. It will all work out in the end.' Although appreciative of the sentiment, Amelia couldn't help but be doubtful of the deputy headmistress' words.

'You know,' Miss Cackle whispered, 'you know that I couldn't bear to lose you again.'

'Amelia, you're like the mother I never had and I will never be able to thank you enough,' said Constance, pausing a moment to breathe as her chest tightened. 'Will you do one last thing for me?'

'Anything.'

'I need to know,' explained the younger witch, 'that if anything happens to me, that Destiny will be taken care of.'

'Oh Constance-'Amelia started, but a strong willed glare forced her silence.

'I'm not saying that anything will, but I...I have no family. I wouldn't feel that she was safe if there was no-one else to take care of her should, _**should**__, _anything happen.'

The words hung on the tip of Amelia's tongue, the truth about the young woman back at the castle waiting to take Destiny away as soon as they returned; how could she tell such an awful thing to a woman who had almost lost everything? She wanted to be honest, to tell her it would all be alright but warn her of the dangers closer to home, yet she couldn't bring herself to say the words. Sighing heavily she nodded in agreement.

'Amelia, would you...would you be Destiny's godmother?'

She hadn't been expecting such a thing. Amelia gasped audibly, raising a hand to her mouth and looking at her deputy to see if she was being serious; her eyes showed no hint of anything less than truth.

'I...me...are you sure?' Constance nodded vigorously.

'There is nobody else that I would trust her with. I know that if I cannot take care of her, then she will be safe with you; though I need you to make the Witch's Oath. It's not that I don't trust you, please don't ever think that is the case; it's just...a connection by oath is as strong as one of blood. She may need that some day.' Amelia agreed, not completely understanding what Constance was saying but knowing that her reasons were nothing less than pure.

Placing a tender hand on Destiny's slumbered head, Amelia said aloud with tears brimming in her eyes:

'_I swear by all the magic of this world,_

_A bond, one which no dreaded foe may break,_

_I will watch over you until I die,_

_Should fate tear you from your mother's arms._

_An oath I make sincerely from my heart,_

_Sweet Destiny, my love I do impart.' _

Removing her hand slowly, she went to wipe her eyes. She could not quite say what an honour it was, to be trusted as the godmother to such a wonderous child; it was a gift greater than anything she had ever dreamed of. Her hand move to Constance's and their fingers interlocked; a bond which could only grow stronger until the end.

'I hope that you know what you're doing,' Amelia whispered gently.

'I do,' Constance assured her, though whether she believed it herself was another matter.

Xxx

Without warning, the room shuddered dangerously. The bond between the older witch and her deputy broke as Constance pulled Destiny close to her chest and bits of rubble began to fall from the roof. Miss Cackle ushered Mildred into the safety of her arms. The world was a blur, the windows shaking and the candle falling from its perch plunging the room into darkness.

When the quaking stopped, Constance raised her head and shivered; she knew what was coming. As the pain hit her, she could do nothing but allow the cry to escape from her lips and a tear to form in her eye. Her body was so incredibly weak that the pain felt much worse than it otherwise would have, like the final blow to an already wounded soldier who barely had the strength to carry on.

Amelia muttered a quick spell producing a small ball of fire which flew into the air and swathed the room in a rich amber glow. She let go of Mildred who hurried to her potions mistress' other side as the headmistress took her free hand. Destiny's eyes were opening, her shimmering sapphire eyes not quite frightened but startled. Mildred stroked her head with a tender hand, whispering how it would be alright.

'Constance, what-'

'Sorry,' she muttered, her pallor so much more terrifying than simply being pale, 'I shouldn't have...I knew it was coming.'

'What is it? What's happening?' Amelia asked desperately, clinging to Constance's hand as though both of their lives depended on it. She felt a feeble squeeze in return.

'We don't have much time,' Constance rasped, her breathing becoming worryingly shallow.' She's broken the barrier. She's coming, Amelia.'

Xxx

The headmistress was lost for words. After all that had happened, after everything they had been through, the face of evil was breaking through and there was nothing that they could do.

'Oh...' was all Amelia could manage, though Mildred saw something different.

'Wait,' she said quickly, 'the barrier is down. We can use magic now, can't we? We can get out of here!'

'I'm sorry, but it's not that simple,' Constance told her gently. 'I...I'm not strong enough to travel, not like this, and she will only follow; I can't put the school in danger.'

'But Mildred's right, we have to get you away from her,' Amelia insisted, though Constance shook her head slowly.

'I need to face her, it won't end until I do; she will always find me, and that is no life for her...that's no way for a child to grow up,' Constance explained. 'It has to be now.'

She could feel her magic failing, the barrier being pulled down with little resistance; they had minutes at best.

'Mildred, go and sit in the corner,' Constance asked seriously. Mildred started to protest, but a reassuring look from the headmistress told her to comply. She went and sat quietly, watching from a distance at the other two women talking in hushed tones.

'What are you doing,' Amelia hissed at her. Constance bent down swiftly, kissing her daughter on the head and hoping that it wouldn't be for the last time. It was the hardest thing she had ever had to do.

She turned to Amelia and handed Destiny over to her, quickly enough that the older witch did not have time to protest.

'I need,' Constance said, her words almost pleading, 'for you to take her and stay with Mildred. I can keep you both safe.'

'But Constance, you barely even have the energy to stand. How do you expect to fight her?'

Constance reached beneath her dress and pulled a small vile of shimmering silver liquid, one which had been tucked away in the cabinet at the back of the potions laboratory for a very long time; it would always have come to this.

'It will enhance my power and give me the strength to...to do what I have to do,' explained Constance. Amelia's eyes welled with tears as she rocked the baby gently in her arms.

'No, no you can't do this alone,' she insisted. 'You're still so weak.'

'I won't let her take Destiny,' Constance said forcefully, 'and this is the only way I can keep her safe.'

'L-let me help you,' Amelia begged, 'please, don't put yourself in danger for us. You've already done so much, I can't watch you risk your life to protect us again.' Constance gave a weak smile.

'If you can't risk your life for those who matter most, then what can you do?'

'I don't want to watch you die,' Amelia choked, barely able to utter the words, 'I have come far too close tonight, and I can't do it I just can't.'

'You won't have to,' Constance said in a half truth.

'You can't promise that,' Amelia stuttered. Constance put her hand on Amelia's.

'No,' she answered honestly, 'but I am not planning on dying today. I don't want to leave my new family.'

Constance took the stopper from the smile vile and poured it down her throat, finding the liquid surprisingly warm and soothing as it caressed her throat. She could feel the effects beginning to take hold as soon as the mixture touched her lips, her fluttering heart beating with a power it had not held in a long time and the pain which gripped every fibre of her being receding; she had to hope that it would all be alright in the end.

Although stumbling a little at first Constance rose to her feet and held her head up high, her mind feeling clearer than it ever had before. With a flick of her wrist, her bloodstained clothes were replaced with a graceful dress of black silk and her hair was pulled back into its trademark bun; she would face Mistress Broomhead as the strong woman she had tried to crush from existence all those years ago. She had changed so much from the person she had been before her life had been gifted with a child, but Constance knew that she would have to wear this mask one last time. She had to be strong.

Amelia stood up carefully and whispered something inaudible into Constance's ear before sitting down beside Mildred. Constance walked over to them and flexed her stiff fingers.

'I am going to place a very powerful protection spell over you,' she explained quickly. 'It will continue to feed from my power, but Mildred I will need you to hold it up from the inside; that way _she_ won't be able to break it.'

'But...but I'm not very powerful,' Mildred admitted sheepishly. Constance allowed a smile to creep across her face.

'You are far stronger than you believe yourself to be, Mildred. It just takes the right feelings, rather than the right words; I know that you can do this; I trust you,' Constance assured her honestly. Mildred nodded gulping, though she wasn't truly convinced.

Raising her hands, Constance felt her magic flourish at her fingertips and she cast the strongest spell she could think of to create an impenetrable bubble; there was no way that she would allow the bitch that had destroyed her life hurt those who mattered to her most. Once the spell had been cast, she gently handed control over to Mildred who, though reluctant at first, bore its weight with ease. Turning towards the door, Constance let a deep breath escape her lips; she was as ready as she would ever be.

Xxx

As though she had been waiting, Mistress Broomhead broke the final weak barrier of magic which was keeping her out of the room. Constance felt a twinge in her chest, but showed no sign of it on her face; this was not the time for weakness. The walls gave an almighty shudder, the glass from every window shattering at the same time with enough force to cause the boards shutting out the light to come crashing to the floor.

The sun's first morning rays spilled through the window, the warmth touching Constance's cheek reassuringly. It was telling her that everything would be alright. Somehow, in some way, it would all be alright. The ball of fire fizzled to nothing, becoming obsolete in the presence of such a power as the bright start which gave life to the Earth.

The door flew off its hinges with the power of a tumultuous storm, crashing against the opposing wall and splintering into small and pitiful pieces. Standing in its wake, breathing heavily and hands poised for the battle which had always been coming, stood Hecketty Broomhead. Her eyes caught Constance's, and the deputy headmistress felt them bearing deep into her soul. They danced with fire and malice; such anger was the only thing to permeate the chasms of never-ending black.

Feeling that look pierce her pale flesh, Constance suppressed a shudder. She still knew that this was how it had to end, though beneath the fracturing exterior of her strength there was a young girl crying out in fear. She could admit to herself now that she was scared - scared of the woman before her and the fate which would befall her when the inevitable conflict began. She didn't want to have to break a promise she had rather carelessly given.

'About time,' Mistress Broomhead hissed, standing up tall and walking into the room; Constance noticed she was still flexing her fingers at her sides, 'I have to give you some credit I suppose; not many spells could have kept me out for that long.' Constance said nothing. She had learnt that to say nothing in the presence of such evil was the best defence against it.

Hecketty's fiery gaze darted to the baby still nestled in Amelia's arms. The headmistress pulled her slightly closer, finding the way the older witch's eyes were fixed on Destiny unnerving to say the very least. An innocent child did not need to be tainted with the devil's glare.

'How sweet,' mocked Hecketty, resisting the urge to laugh. 'What did you name her, Constance? Please tell me it wasn't after your mother, I don't think that I could bear it.' Constance felt a lump rise in her throat. How had she known? She tried to pretend that it did not faze her, tried to stay strong, but the callous delight in Hecketty's eyes told her that she didn't even need to give an answer.

'Oh really,' she spat, the cruel smile shattering to reveal a thunderous expression, 'I thought more of you Constance.'

Hecketty's eyes narrowed on where Amelia and Mildred were sitting in the corner with Destiny and she sighed inwardly.

'A protection spell!' she shrieked. 'You just cannot resist making my job even harder can you?'

'I was hardly going to hand her over to you,' Constance replied calmly.

'No,' Mistress conceded, walking as if to circle her former protégée; Constance copied her movement.

The two lionesses were matched in almost every way. Though Hecketty was the elder witch, Constance had been weakened by her injuries despite the way she tried to hide it. They were of the same height, similar build and their magic was equally powerful. Constance could not help but get the feeling that this would only end in tragedy.

'I have never liked those who get in my way,' Hecketty stated bluntly. 'People cannot see that whatever I do it is for the best, for what is right for witches across the world; they are selfish.'

'No, they are noble,' Constance replied forcefully. 'They stand up for what they believe in, not just for their own benefit but for the sake of the people they love. What you believe is right, Mistress Broomhead, does not take the feelings of others into account and I cannot allow you to destroy what matters to me in order to wreak havoc with the magical world. It's not right.'

'You sound just like him,' Hecketty teased, her anger reaching its boiling point. She knew exactly which buttons to press.

'He begged me to stay away from you. 'No, please, don't hurt them'; absolutely pathetic,' she mocked spitefully. Constance felt her heart doing somersaults beneath her ribs. She had tried not to think of him, of the man she could have loved and who died because of her own negligence; it was as though her former tutor could sense the guilt that she still harboured.

'He was b-brave,' Constance said, though she cursed as her words faltered. Hecketty's grin widened.

'He was a failure! He tried to fight me, but he couldn't even manage to cast a single spell before I killed him.' Constance wondered how anyone could so clearly and without remorse confess to such a crime, one which goes against every ounce of human nature. It wasn't right.

'He cried as he slipped away, quite slowly I might add; I think the last word he said was your name,' Mistress Broomhead told her cruelly.

'Stop it, just stop!' Constance cried. She couldn't take any more of this, of Hecketty messing with her mind.

'Oh come on Constance,' Hecketty screeched, 'you can do better than that! I cannot believe that I ever thought that you could be someone, someone with promise; you were born for nothing more than to die on this day to fulfil a prophecy. Your life has no meaning. Your life is less than worthless, and as soon as you are gone I will take your daughter; she will grow up to hate you, to despise the very mention of your name.'

'I will not let you take her,' Constance muttered, breathing heavily as rage overcame her deepening sense of fear.

'And the alternative?' questioned Hecketty, revelling in the way she was making the younger witch feel. 'Do you honestly think that you could take care of a child?' Constance wanted to protest, to tell her that she was wrong and that if she was left in peace then everything would fall into place; yet she couldn't. It was her worst fear: that she would not be able to take care of her own baby; after all, she didn't know the first thing about being a mother.

'How could you love a child, nurture it and watch it grow, when everybody you know hates you? We are alike Constance, you and I; we are not meant to bear children. We are hated because of who we are, the tyrants of the world; this is the price we must pay in the pursuit of power and perfection.'

'I am nothing like you,' Constance exclaimed, disgusted at being compared to the empty and heartless chasm of evil before her. She would never be like her.

'Really?' Hecketty asked, playing on the niggling doubt she could feel in the back of the younger witch's mind. 'Think about it Constance, take one moment and think. Who has ever truly loved you? Your parents never did, that much I am sure you already know, and no man has ever even touched you. You are alone in the world, someone incapable of drawing another's affections; the only way you were ever going to get pregnant was through magic. No sane man would ever think of loving you.'

'Only a twisted mind could think that way,' said Constance quietly. She tried to keep the tears at bay, though she knew of course that the older woman was right. She had never felt the touch of a man's lips against hers, never known the love of another so deep that it would last forever; it was what could have completed her, yet instead left part of her cold and empty. She had always been lonely.

'You know that I only speak the truth,' Mistress Broomhead taunted her. 'Who do you have in the world?'

'I...' Constance swallowed, forcing her mind to think of what she had. She found the comforting faces of those she saw every day, of friends she had never realised that she had and a daughter who could never grow up to hate her and she felt a smile tug at the edges of her mouth.

'I have a family,' she whispered finally.

'But what happens when I kill you? Who can protect your little _family _now?' The word was spat out as though it was a curse, poison burning her tongue; she had never had a family of her own, not one that had loved her, and no-one else could have one either.

'The spell can still last once I am gone,' Constance explained rationally.

'They can't stay in there forever,' Hecketty pointed out with a sly smile, 'and I am a very patient woman.'

'Why,' Constance asked finally, 'why can you not just leave me in peace? For my entire life you have hurt me, taken control over my life and told me who I am supposed to be. You don't need this power to do what you have planned; just let me go.'

'You are right,' Hecketty conceded. 'I do not need this power, but with it I can correct the many wrongs which taint the world every day. Witches need me, they need me to be in charge and lead them to a brighter future; and I need you and that baby to do it.'

'I have never been truly free of you, have I?' Constance realised sadly.

'Of course not,' Hecketty jested, 'I couldn't let you slip through my fingers when you mean so much! I had to find you, teach you what you needed to know and test to see if you were truly the one. Then, when I had shaped you to be the person that you needed to be, I let you wander only just outside the barricades. I was always watching.' The confession sent a shiver down Constance's spine. It was a difficult image to bear.

'I spent my childhood behind locked doors,' Constance revealed, the truth of her past finally breaking open for all to see. 'Every day, even though I perfected any spell you could throw at me, you punished me with fire and magic; I still have the scars, I can still feel them burn!'

'I took you in when no-one else wanted you!' the elder witch screamed. 'You had nowhere else to go.'

'All because you killed my parents! You murdered my mother in cold blood; I never even got the chance to know her. And you turned my father against me.'

'They were nobodies, a mere fleck on the canvas in the grand scheme of things; you were better off without them.'

'Was I?' Constance asked, enraged. 'On my tenth birthday, you decided to test my power to see if I could fight off a soul-extraction spell. You tried for 18 hours to rip my soul, my living soul, from my body and every moment I was forced to fight until I didn't know who I was anymore. I woke up every day, wondering if today was finally going to be the day when you took it a step too far and killed me. Sometimes I even wished...' Constance felt tears rising in her eyes. She remembered the nights she had cried, long and hard, begging for someone to just let her rest in peace away from the cruelty of the world. There was no excuse for anyone to be treated in that way.

'You wished what,' Hecketty said, her tone one of danger. Both women stopped and faced each other, two people who appeared on the surface to be so alike yet could not have been more different.

'I wished you would just let me die,' Constance whispered, unable to stop the tears from rolling down her cheeks. She couldn't pretend that her life had not felt like it was ending every day, yet she had to suffer unspeakable cruelties one day after the next. Any sane man would have wished for something more.

Constance felt something white hot burn her cheek and she staggered back a step, regaining her balance quickly though stunned by what had taken place. Reaching a hand to the side of her face, she saw droplets of bright red blood against her white fingertips and felt the warm liquid flowing fast down the side of her face. She looked at Mistress Broomhead, whose eyes were burning and hands were poised for the next attack.

'How dare you!' she breathed. 'No-one could be that weak, that WORTHLESS, that they would even think about such a thing.'

'Sometimes,' Constance replied calmly, though her hands were shaking, 'it is not about being weak, but about how much suffering a person deserves to take.'

'I had hoped that it wouldn't have to come to this,' Mistress Broomhead said with a sense of what could have been regret. Constance straightened, wiping her eyes and flexing her fingers already able to feel the magic coursing through her veins.

'All things must end some way,' she stated wisely.

'You could have been so much more,' Hecketty told her with a tone of pure disappointment.

'I would not want to be anything more than the person that I already am,' Constance admitted with genuine truth. She had become a mother, and in the process a better person; she was finally content.

'So be it.'

Hecketty threw the first spell at Constance with unyielding force, and though the younger witch caught it before it hit her she could feel its power threatening to knock her to the ground. She dispelled the dark magic and tried a spell to bind her tutor, concentrating hard so that she didn't need to waste her time with words. But she wasn't fast enough.

As bolt after bolt of magic flew past her in every direction, Constance could only just manage to keep up whilst avoiding the fatal blows which could have ended her life at any moment. At the exact same moment, both witches cast a spell at one another and one woman hit her target. Constance was forced back hard against the wall and slid painfully to the stone floor, her mind a daze as she tried to overcome the dizziness plaguing her mind. She would have been dead, had her own binding spell not constricted Hecketty's casting fingers.

Although she stumbled to her feet, the power of the blast in addition to the effort of keeping up with Hecketty was taking its toll. Her breathing was becoming more laboured, her heart beating slower in her chest, though she was not about to give up now. She had come too far to let Hecketty win.

'Ready to admit defeat yet?' Hecketty laughed callously.

'Never,' Constance cried, casting a fast spell which forced Hecketty back a few paces; a small victory, but one which symbolised much more than it appeared to.

The battle became more heated, one witch simply trying to stun her adversary into submission and the other aiming to kill. More often than not, they were spells which could not be blocked and magic which were, by most means, unstoppable. Constance felt blow after blow hit her squarely in the chest and abdomen, each bringing more pain than the last. The effects of the potion were wearing off already, the weight of her tired and feeble frame returning to her and dragging her down. Her hair was coming loose from its bun and, despite her best efforts, her magic was matched more than equally by Hecketty who had darker forces working for her, ones which Constance would never steep to.

Xxx

Mildred's face was buried in Amelia's side, unable to watch as the deputy headmistress began to falter. The headmistress' face was streaked with tears, her entire body trembling as she watched Mistress Broomhead begin to take control of the fight. At first, Constance had been able to defend herself and attack with the same force being directed at her though now she was faltering; Amelia feared her body had suffered too much to be able to fight any longer.

As if aware of what was going on around her, Destiny began to cry softly. It was a weak sound, nothing louder than the coo of a dove escaping her lips, though her eyes sparkled with tears which fell across her face. Her arms reached out for the mother who couldn't be there, and she wanted nothing more than to sleep to the sound of another's heartbeat again.

She couldn't take it anymore. Constance was unable to stop the brightly coloured bolts of magic which pounded at her body, ones which crackled in the air once they had been cast and caused her more than once to audibly gasp. She was unsteady on her feet, her expression one almost of defeat as her resolve began to crumble. The glee in Hecketty's expression was sickening. She enjoyed watching the younger witch fall, casting more spells to weaken her as she awaited the moment for the final blow.

Amelia rose to her feet.

'STOP!' she screamed, 'Oh god please, stop this NOW!'

Normally, Mistress Broomhead would have taken no notice of the troublesome voice which called from behind her, though seeing how Constance was ready to fall she knew that she had time. Ceasing her attack, she watched as Constance fell to her knees and placed her hands on the floor in front of her, breathing heavily and coughing blood which spattered on the floor. With a flick of her wrist, Hecketty forced her upper body upright and bound her hands tightly behind her back; humiliation came before the final defeat. She turned to Miss Cackle.

'So the little mouse does speak,' she said in a mocking tone. Amelia noticed that she too was breathing heavily, the sleeve of her dress ripped and a wound oozing blood; though she didn't show it, the battle had weakened her too.

'You've made your point,' Amelia begged, 'now please let her go.'

'I would only let her go for the child,' Hecketty reasoned, knowing it was a price that no reasonable person would pay.

'You can't both go on like this!'

'Oh but we can,' Mistress Broomhead smiled. 'I can wait as long as it takes to break her.'

'But you don't have that much time,' Amelia said hurriedly, thinking on her feet. She saw a spark of uncertainty in Hecketty's eyes.

'What do you mean?'

'The Guild', explained the headmistress, remembering Cathy, 'they know about what you've done, every atrocity that you have committed. They have been looking for you ever since you disappeared, and they have evidence of what you did to Constance and to Tom. There's a woman at the castle now, someone from the investigating team, trying to find Constance. I am guessing, now that the protection on this room has been removed, that traces on both of your magical auras could be easily organised. They could already be on their way.'

Hecketty thought for a moment. She thought long and hard, yet despite the doubts she cast over Miss Cackle's story somewhere inside she knew that it was true. She had been aware of the Guild's suspicions for months, covering her tracks carefully though knowing that there was always the risk of them discovering more than they needed to know. She commended herself for always thinking ahead.

There is always more than one way to get what you want.

'I see,' she mumbled finally. Hecketty turned on her heel and walked over to Constance who stared at her with hateful eyes.

'Destiny Hardbroom,' Mistress Broomhead said loudly and clearly. 'Look at her.' Something drew Constance's eyes to her daughter. Though she could only see the top of her head and a stray arm reaching for the heavens, her heart was filled with love she had not known that she was capable of. Her eyes filled with tears and her bound arms twitched; she wanted nothing more than to hold her again.

'What do you see?' Hecketty asked.

'I see what you will never have,' Constance whispered, 'someone to love.' A tear fell down her face, stinging the still bleeding gash on her cheek though she hardly felt it. As a smile spread across Hecketty's face, Constance became confused. Why had she stopped her attack? Alarm bells rang in the back of her mind; she knew that look. It was the look of someone who seemed to be stuck, yet knew exactly what they were doing. She had a plan.

'That was all that I needed,' Mistress Broomhead cried in a delirious rant.

'What do you mean?' Amelia asked from behind her barrier. She hated feeling safe and protected whilst being forced to watch another suffer; it didn't seem right.

'I always knew that there were many risks involved with this endeavour, so many things that could go wrong.' Hecketty explained. 'There was always the chance that Constance would find a way to protect the child so that she was beyond my grasp. Luckily, the original spell was somewhat modified to create...well what could be described as a back-up plan of sorts.'

Constance's eyes grew wide. Her mind raced, trying to work out what her formed tutor was about to do though she feared that she already knew. Part of her, however, could not help but feel relieved. Hecketty's plan had not worked. She had not been able to get to Destiny, and watching Amelia soothe her now Constance knew that if something did happen then she would be loved; what more could she ask for?

'What do you mean?' Mildred shouted, piping up after staying silent for so long. She couldn't bear to watch her teacher suffer, not after she had been through so much already.

'If I could not get to the child,' Hecketty continued, 'then there was still a way for me to access part of her magical imprint and get just enough power to achieve what I have set out to do.' She looked deep into Constance's brown eyes, though was confused to see that they showed no fear.

'Having been inside you for 8 months, Constance, your body will contain a faint aura of your daughter's magic. That connection, combined with the bond of love that has already tied you so closely to Destiny, will enable me to acquire an essence, at least, of her power. That level of magic, combined with your own, should serve me quite well; not too bad for a compromise!'

'What...' Amelia started, trying to get her head around what was being said. 'You would take her magic? No! No I won't let you!'

'Very noble of you,' Hecketty said dryly, 'but there is hardly an awful lot that you can do about it is there?' Amelia lowered her head slightly, accepting the truth of her predicament.

'And it won't be just her magic that I need to take,' the older witch smiled joyously. 'To make use of the connection and the magic living within Constance, I will need to drain the life force from her living soul. I believe you remember the spell, Constance? Your tenth birthday, if memory serves, though I should think it will be a lot easier now.'

'You dare!' Mildred screamed, tears streaming down her face. 'Leave her alone! She's just had a baby, there are people who need her. Miss Hardbroom don't let her do this!'

'I am sorry Mildred,' Constance said weakly, 'but there is not much that I can do. I'm so sorry.' Mildred screamed and took an offered hand from the headmistress, squeezing it tightly.

'It'll be fine,' Amelia muttered, though inside she was panicking, 'you'll see.'

'Any last words?' Hecketty taunted, words meant only for Constance's ears. Constance smiled.

'Don't think this is the end,' she whispered. She was ready for what was coming. Her gaze turned to where her daughter was lying, crying in Miss Cackle's arms. That was the memory she wanted to remember, the final thing she wanted to see.

Hecketty cast the spell without a second's thought, though Constance's words did play on her mind. The deep green light enveloped Constance and her head flew backwards as she screamed in pain. It was like nothing she could describe, the feeling of another's magic reaching deep into her and taking control of her soul. Unlike when she was younger, she had neither the energy nor the means to fight this. Her body was tired, her mind a fog of uncertainty, and though she wished that her former tutor could not win this endless battle it seemed inevitable.

She could feel her soul being taken, the magic which usually crackled at her fingertips receding like the waning tide. A tear scolded her cheek as her voice died in her throat, everything going black as she accepted defeat and went to greet the darkness like an old friend.

Mistress Broomhead laughed as she felt her magic pulling Constance's from her body, ripping her tainted soul from where it belonged for her to use and conquer. She was in control, her power increasing with every moment they were connected. She felt Constance slip away and felt no flicker of remorse.

Amelia screamed for Constance,

Destiny cried for her mother,

Mildred ached for a woman to whom she owed a second chance.

And then it all went wrong.

* * *

><p><strong>Firstly, anyone who thought I could let a baby die...really? I would have been in an emotional state! That's my excuse for poetic licence anyway.<strong>

**Wasn't as confident about this chapter as the rest so be nice, but would love to know what you thought!**

**If not before, then merry christmas to everyone and big hugs!**

**HBR**

**xxx**


	25. Chapter 25

**Merry Christmas everyone! This is probably the last chapter before the season so wishing everyone a good Xmas.**

**Despite the season's festivities this chapter isn't the prettiest it has to be said. The last bit..well I was stuck on how exactly to write it so I went with this and shoot if you must but it is probably the best I can do so here we are!**

**Won't clog the fic up with too much of an A/N just a thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far and hopefully people will keep reading this...rather long fic to say the least!**

**There are some references to previous chapters which even I barely remembered but it isn't 100% necessary to know exactly where they come from. You'll see anyway**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 25<strong>

She fell to the floor hard, her cheek stinging where her tutor's hand had collided with her face. Trying to catch her breath, her head swimming and flecks of colour dancing before her eyes, Constance wished that she didn't know what was coming. It had been an unbelievable dream, a foolish mistake to think that she would not have found out; now she would pay the price for her one sacred moment of indulgence.

Constance tried to pull herself from the floor only to be met with a kick to her stomach. It ripped through her abdomen and forced her to stay down, bringing a wave of nausea to her throat which she only just managed to suppress.

Seven years of her life had been wasted in this place. They were years which some called the best of their lives, a time where a child could be so free with nothing more to worry about then a late piece of homework or a bully at school; she envied such people, holding a strong yet hidden desire to be just like them. Her fate was sealed, written in blood on the walls and carved in stone; she would never be free.

At fifteen, Constance had known no other life than cruelty. Her eyes were wise with maturity some never managed to obtain, deep with secrets never to be uncovered and a knowledge of how her life would have to play out. Looking into those eyes one could tell nothing of the life that this young girl was forced to lead, though there was a sense of sadness which pervaded the air around her wherever she walked. She carried a great burden, it was clear to see, though one which could never be shared or lifted.

It was the burden of knowing that one day her fate would be sealed in blood and the sound of her own screams, yet she was not permitted the simple comfort of knowing what this fate would be. Her life was a mystery, even at times to her, and one she was growing tired of living more and more each day.

'How dare you,' Hecketty hissed, circling the fallen child like a vulture watching as a dying and vulnerable animal suffered before it.

'Did you really think that you could get away with it? Did you think that I would not know?'

'I...' Constance stuttered, her words failing her as the darkness she was so used to succumbing to clouded her vision.

'Pathetic,' spat the older witch, a word which meant so many things and still hit a nerve with her pupil. It was a word which disbanded every effort she gave, making the small goals she had achieved meaningless and her life worth less than nothing. If she wasn't strong, then who could she be? The word was poisonous, two simple syllables yet ones which made Constance shiver. She didn't want to fail, for she feared the consequences if she did.

'You left the grounds,' Hecketty reminded her. 'You dared to stray beyond the walls you know that you must stay within and honestly thought that I would not be able to tell?' Constance gulped, preparing herself for a fight she would not win.

'I...I didn't r-really-'

'DON'T LIE TO ME!' screamed Mistress Broomhead, her eyes burning with anger. It was as though the young girl had committed murder rather than strayed beyond the restrictions of the castle, though any misdeed was punishable as such in the eyes of deranged and twisted witch.

'I-I'm not!' protested Constance, trying for the first time to defend herself. She was surviving on pure adrenalin, rational thought lost with her only hope that she could stay strong in the face of evil.

'Explain,' was all that the elder woman shrieked, her chest heaving with the weight of her own anger. Constance forced herself to breathe, to stay awake despite her body's pleas to let her sleep.

'I did d-dematerialise from my room,' Constance admitted shakily, 'but I never actually appeared outside the castle. I just sort of...lingered for a while.'

For the first time in her many years of what can only loosely be described as teaching, Hecketty was speechless. To vanish and appear in the desired location was one skill, one which had been taught to her protégée when she had first arrived at the Witch Training College, but even Mistress Broomhead herself had never heard of a witch disappearing only to linger in the night's air without the need to appear in a physical form.

She had always known that Constance was special, powerful and creative without the limitations of magic which restricted so many witches, but this...She didn't know whether to be pleased or disgusted. She had to wonder if her control over the younger witch would slip, if this was what she was truly capable of. If she could create her own magic, use her power in ways no other person could, then it was only a matter of time before she could stray beyond her authority.

Constance lay on her side, one quaking hand holding her body from the floor. She wished beyond what she had thought possible that she had never said anything, that she had just kept her mouth shut. It was stupid really, such a ridiculously trivial thing and one not worth the hassle it would cause.

The end of year exam results had been published the day before, with Constance rising above and beyond the very top of the class. The entire year had been preparing to go out that evening, as was permitted for normal students, and they had invited her along. It had been a gesture which she had greatly appreciated, knowing that although she could not call these people friends, they were extending an amicable hand to offer her a night of freedom; they knew who she had to deal with every day, everyone did.

Though flattered, Constance had politely declined. She knew what Mistress Broomhead would say, her rules on straying beyond the wrought iron gates particularly clear; she had only wanted to see. Whilst sitting, as usual, alone in her room Constance had looked out of the window and wondered, just for a moment, what it would be like to join them. Standing and folding her arms, she had vanished from her room and her mind had been transported to the very restaurant where her peers were having dinner.

She did not reveal her presence and only stayed for the briefest of moments, but watching the people she saw every day laughing and enjoying themselves brought her a sense of comfort. Constance could have cried, could have pined for the life she would never have, but what would that achieve? Being able to watch others embracing life was refreshing to see, and though once she returned to her room the usual sense of forced enclosure and sickening depression took hold, that memory was one she would treasure. One day she wanted to be part of it, no matter how long it took to get there.

And now, lying before her tutor trying her hardest not to break, Constance did not know where her actions would lead her. She could not tell what Hecketty was thinking and that brought a growing sense of dread which was spreading through her body like a virus.

'So,' Hecketty began, her voice dangerously calm, 'you sought to defy me, and then speak out of turn.' Constance swallowed, her eyes wide; she could already feel the severity of what was about to happen to her with every feeble beat of her heart. She did not even dare to breathe.

'I never thought...' Mistress Broomhead's words trailed to nothing as her thoughts wandered.

'I could...no, could I? No-one has ever...'

Listening to her tutor's thoughts being spoken aloud terrified Constance, though she would never admit it. She looked into Hecketty's eyes, watery brown meeting cold grey and she saw a glimpse of what was coming. The echo of a gasp escaped from her lips before she felt something blunt crash into her head and everything went dark.

Xxx

When she woke, Constance soon became aware that she was sitting on a hard wooden chair. The weak sun appeared from behind the clouds and the warmth comforted her as she pulled her mind back into the real world. It was a small and stolen moment of calm, the mirror-like water before the crashing tsunami, and one which would not last.

The first indication that something was wrong came when Constance realised that she could not move her hands.

Blinking the last remnants of darkness from her eyes, Constance recognised the room where she spent most of her days and where she had been lying either moments or centuries ago. Looking down at her arms, it took a while for what she was seeing to register; when it did her blood ran cold. She was used to Mistress Broomhead's punishments, everything ranging from simple physical violence to dangerous experimental potions; this was something else. Something far, far more terrifying.

The chair was made from old, rotting wood which produced a sickly aroma that forced itself onto her, assaulting her senses. Her wrists were bound to the arms of the chair with old belts so tightly that her fingers were deathly white where the blood-flow was restricted. The most unusual thing that Constance realised was that the sleeves of her dress had been ripped and pulled so that they lingered on her shoulders, her hair pulled back harshly and knotted atop her head.

Hecketty was nowhere to be seen. For over an hour, Constance writhed in the chair trying with all the effort that she could muster to break free. She screamed and cried, knowing that it would do no good; the term was ending and everyone would be in the great hall on the other side of the building. She was alone.

Exhausted, Constance tried once more to use her magic. Something was blocking it, restricting it to her body and refusing to allow it to stray far enough to untie the bindings which seemed to get tighter with every passing minute. Barely able to open her eyes, her breathing shallow, Constance heard another person enter the room; she didn't need to be able to see clearly to know who it would be.

'I think,' came the sound of Hecketty's voice through the haze, 'that it is time to remind you who is in control.'

'Please,' whispered Constance, not caring as tears graced her pale face.

'I haven't had to use this in years,' explained Mistress Broomhead. 'The only other time I have, I am sorry to say that the girl died; let's see if you fare any better.'

'Wh-what,' Constance managed, refusing to believe that even someone as cruel as Hecketty would resort to murder just to prove a point. She couldn't, could she? Not even her...

'Your magic is a part of you, part of your living soul, but it affects other parts of your body; your blood, for example.'

Constance's heart stopped beating.

'The blood of the most powerful witches is extremely magical, a very rare substance due to the method of...extraction, and one which has many uses; this of course makes it very valuable.'

'No,' Constance begged, feeling the arteries of her body pounding as her precious blood ran through them, 'no you can't...please, you can't.'

'Perhaps now, you will realise who you belong to,' Hecketty said far too calmly, producing a long gilded knife from beneath her robe. Constance screamed.

She felt the blade pierce her skin with the intensity of a burning star, the first drops of blood the brightest red and glistening in the sunlight. The droplets slid down her arm, marking their path in scarlet ink as if to mock her.

Hecketty conjured a glass beaker, placing it beneath one of the chair's arms and muttering a few words as she did so. The first ruby of blood moved slowly and painstakingly from its searing origin to the end of Constance's arm, before falling as if pulled by an invisible force into the beaker.

Constance felt as if she was dying. On the surface it was nothing more than a superficial cut, something she had dealt with many times before; you couldn't tell from looking how much deeper the torture went. The incantation on the beaker drew the blood from the wound, pulling it from her body with her powerless to stop it.

Yet more than that, it turned the substance which gave her life against her. Within her veins, her blood burned and scorched her as if she had been poisoned and every waking moment brought greater agony. She tried to fall into the welcome pit of unconsciousness, but her mind refused to let her. The raw magic she depended on, residing deep within her soul, had woken in the panic and was forcing her to stay awake, and with that forcing her to suffer.

Mistress Broomhead looked down at Constance who after a moment of struggling had fallen limp in her chair, still trying to shout out with what effort she had left. Draining blood was a tiresome and painful process, one which took much energy from the unfortunate soul upon whom the spell had been cast; it was going to be a very long day.

Gripping the knife between her fingers, Hecketty dared to look into Constance's horrified and defeated eyes for a moment as she took the younger witch's unharmed arm in her hand. They begged her, pleaded with her to stop. She knew that she had understood, that she would never stray again; yet somehow it wasn't enough. The knife cut deep into her pale flesh, drawing precious blood as Constance screamed in agony. The sound was so hopeless, so terrified, that even Hecketty suppressed a shiver.

Xxx

Stepping back, Hecketty realised that she was trembling. Constance's eyes were flickering, not quite closed but the older woman knew that she would be too tired to even comprehend her surroundings. All she would know was the pain.

Mistress Broomhead had always taken a certain pride in her punishments. It was not just the violence and mental degradation which she served to those who had done wrong, but the sense of justice and control which made her feel as if she was doing the right thing. Never before had she felt that she had overstepped the mark. Not until then.

Regret was an emotion which Hecketty had never really embraced. She saw that what had been done could not be changed, and to look to the past would only lead to moving backwards and wasting time. She didn't know whether it was the way that Constance's chest was barely moving, or the colour of the shimmering scarlet rivers against the deathly pale skin; something about the young witch before her told her that what she had done was wrong. The knife clattered to the floor.

'You...you should have listened,' Hecketty muttered. Constance showed no signs of response.

'It's your fault,' she shouted, her voice for the first time near to breaking point, 'look at what you made me do!' Shaking her head, Hecketty was talking more to herself, to justify her actions, than to the lifeless form before her.

'There is no-one else to blame, you brought this on yourself!'

Saying it aloud could not quite make her believe it, but it was enough for now. The beaker had filled to the brim, still warm as Hecketty moved to pick it up. The spell dissipated at once, the bond between the beaker and the blood left coursing in Constance's veins broken. Her eyes could finally close.

'You brought this on yourself,' Hecketty whispered one last time, staring as though entranced at the beaker which seemed far too full and trying to keep a slowly slipping composure. As she vanished into the unknown, Hecketty cursed her own emotions. She thought that they had been gone for a very long time, pushed to the corner of her mind and locked away forever. She couldn't really be feeling sorry for the girl...

No. It wasn't right. It wasn't her. As soon as she materialised back in her office she cried out in fury, slamming the beaker down on the table. She refused to let emotions take hold of her, to taint the path she had to walk to get what she needed. The small flash of regret had turned the hatred in her soul against her mind, against herself, and she would never let such a feeling loose within her again.

Something within Hecketty changed. She had always been cruel, heartless and cold, that was plain to see; after watching Constance suffer so, she became nothing less than ruthless. The adrenalin coursing through her body was intoxicating, and although part of her was repulsed another part was excited. She decided, there and then, that nothing would stand in her way. Hecketty Broomhead became unstoppable. Nothing would ever stand in her way again.

Xxx

The school year ended. Constance had spent hours bleeding, crying out for nobody to hear her and allowing tears to escape from the corners of her eyes as she began to wish that the world would end around her; nobody knew. She had realised quite soon that the chances of being found were slim. Who would come into an otherwise empty classroom when the great wide world was waiting for them outside? Had it not been for the kindness of a stranger, she would have died in that very room.

Her eyes were still closed, but she felt the presence of another. She was aware, yet everything was dark; she wondered how long she had been there.

Xxx

As soon as he had seen her through the door, he had run to her as fast as his legs would carry him. Though she did not yet know him – nor, he hoped, had she even seen him – Thomas Woodstock had been keeping an eye on Constance ever since he had first noticed her unfortunate affiliation with Hecketty Broomhead. More than once, he had challenged her methods on previous pupils despite being only a student himself and for that he had been sorely reprimanded.

Knowing the burden that being Hecketty's protégée would be, he had sworn to look out for Constance even if she couldn't yet know what he was doing.

When Tom reached Constance, he covered his mouth as nausea gripped his stomach. There were open cuts across her face, neck and arms which were still dripping blood and someone had slashed her abdomen ripping her badly stained dress. She was bound by her wrists, though her body was lifeless in the chair which was surrounded by small pools of scarlet. It was like a scene from a horror film.

Tom knew who had done this without needing to ask, yet he couldn't quite comprehend why anyone would be that cruel - even Hecketty. Untying her wrists, Tom allowed Constance's body to fall into his arms and he picked her up before laying her gently on the ground. Not one of the spells that he used to try and stem the bleeding had worked, and Tom was forced simply to remove his jacket as a meagre offering of warmth; her body was as cold as ice.

He feared checking for a pulse, unsure of what if anything he would find, but a feeble gasp from Constance assured him that the worst had not yet happened. Her eyes opened, deep rich brown which told such a sad and tortured story, and Tom managed a smile for her as he found a small device in his pocket which could be enchanted to carry messages. Murmuring a plea for medical attention, he sent it flying away with the flick of his wrist and held Constance's freezing hand in his own. The sun was setting. Everyone else had gone home. He had been her only chance, her knight in shining armour, and she would never even know.

Xxx

Constance just forced her eyes to open for a moment, her vision blurred and her mind too tired to comprehend much more than that she was alive. She felt the ground beneath her, comforting in comparison to the horrific confines of the chair, and was aware that she was slipping into darkness again. As her eyes closed, she saw the outline of a figure. It was a face that she would forget, even when she met with him in six months time and he asked her to come away with him. She tried to mutter a thank you, but her voice was lost. Her silhouetted saviour.

She woke up three weeks later in intensive care, screaming and unable to say exactly what had happened. It was an experience she would never forget, which would give her scars which still shone in the moonlight and gave her the most horrendous of nightmares. She would never tell a soul.

* * *

><p>Constance woke, every bone in her body aching and the bitter taste of blood still fresh in her mouth. The sky was darkening outside; the end of an era. Everyone else was gone. The castle was empty, the stone walls bare and the corridors vacant as every student had gone home to their families; it was a time of great tranquillity.<p>

Usually Constance was forced to stay within the college grounds during the holidays and study; they had been some of the worst days of her life, but were now no more than memories to be buried. She had graduated from the WTC, the youngest graduate in a century with more qualifications than most witches earned in a lifetime and now she could finally realise...she was free.

It took her a while to get to her feet. Her parting exchange with Mistress Broomhead had proven challenging, one which left her fighting once more for her life, but now it was over. She would never have to stare into the face of evil again; or so she thought.

Picking her tattered bag from the floor, Constance limped slowly from the room to be greeted with nothing but glorious silence. Every step was painful, every movement a hardship, but it was worth it. She could not rest until she was released from these terrible corridors and free from the confines of the castle forever; she had to leave this place a strong and independent woman.

Reaching the gates seemed to take forever, yet feeling the rough metal beneath her fingertips was a blessing. She pushed them open, using more strength than she had within her and stumbling; it was worth more than everything.

Constance staggered past the entrance to the mouth of hell and into the trees beyond, watching the horizon darken as the sun disappeared. It was not long before her body could take no more and she collapsed into the leaves.

Turning onto her back, Constance stared at the deep inky sky. Like her own life it was clouded in such mystery, and yet the stars seemed to hold a certain hope within them as they appeared one by one; there was nothing more beautiful in the world. She had nowhere to go, no house or family; she didn't even have any money. She was alone in the world without means or purpose, yet none of it mattered. A tear escaped from the corner of her eye, a tear of relief and happiness; she could say it, she was free. Whatever happened to her now, whatever the future would hold for her, she was in control of her own life and there was nothing and no-one who could take that away from her.

Drifting off in the warm midsummer night air beneath the stars, Constance had never felt more alive. She couldn't know that there were forces working around her even when she thought that she was alone. She couldn't tell that whenever she slept, there was another pair of eyes in the room watching her. She would never know that her freedom had always, in fact, been a lie. She was never free. And, until the bitter end, she never could be.

* * *

><p>The sorrowful memories of her life revisited her like old friends, her story playing out like a black and white picture flickering from scene to scene with faded sound ringing in the back of her mind. If nothing else, it would be over. If the life after what was to come brought only peace and the chance to put these memories to rest, then it would be worth the struggle to get there. She just had to be sure that they were safe, those who mattered most to her, and then she could go. She needed only to hang on to ensure that they were protected, and then she would accept whatever came after the end of the storm.<p>

Constance could feel her soul being pillaged, the deepest secrets that only she knew and the very essence that made her who she was being invaded and torn apart as Hecketty's magic sought to take what she did not have the right to own. With each passing second she was fading, the person she had been becoming lost to the ether in a desperate tirade for magic and power.

She could not see how meaningless it would be, a pointless pursuit. We are not judged on how much power we have or how skilled we are; we are all judged, in the end, on the person we truly are at heart when everything else is stripped away. It is what makes us who we are, what separates every man woman and child, and all that Hecketty could gain from her cruelty would be damnation.

It had to be now. Though her mind and her body were no longer one, Constance reached deep into her tainted soul and found the image of her daughter. She held on to the memory of the one time that she had been able to hold her, remembering the warmth of Destiny's skin against her own and the brightness of her sparkling blue eyes, revelling in that far too brief moment. Constance tried to dismiss her pining to hold her daughter again; it only distracted from what she had to think, had to believe and remember. It would bring about the final justice.

Xxx

Hecketty screamed. Her hands burned, her magic recoiling back to her fingers as she staggered and fell to the floor. Kneeling and staring at the charred skin of her fingertips, she could not understand what had gone wrong. She had been so close to taking everything. Constance's soul had been in her hands, her magic flowing into its new owner when...she couldn't even describe it.

Constance's limp form fell back, unmoving and ghostly pale with her hands still tied behind her back. Amelia watched, mouth agape, not sure what to think.

'What,' Hecketty muttered in disbelief, 'what is this?' She looked at the headmistress, noticing that the protective bubble was still holding around its inhabitants though appearing considerably weaker. She couldn't understand.

Mildred looked at Amelia, begging to be told what was happening.

'What happened Miss,' she whispered, 'is Miss H-Hardbroom okay?' She had to hope, though the image of the fallen woman in the corner of her eye told a very different story from the one she dreamed of. After everything that had happened, why was it that the dying witch could not find a happy ending? It wasn't fair. Life wasn't fair anymore.

'I don't know,' replied Miss Cackle honestly, 'but something has gone wrong, something Mistress Broomhead had not anticipated; that has to be a good thing.' Her assurances were built on a whim, nothing more than a chance, but it was better than blind hope which could prove to be completely false. Holding Destiny close to her chest and feeling Mildred's shaking body close, Amelia knew that she had to be strong. However scared she was feeling, however sad and terrified she was, there were those who had no-one else to turn to.

'_You underestimated me.'_

The voice, at first, was almost as quiet as a whisper. It rang with an ethereal echo, a voice which belonged to the only person Amelia wanted to hear from; yet Constance's body was lifeless, her eyes closed and her lips only parted to breathe. It couldn't be...

'_For my entire life, I have suffered at your hand. You thought me nothing but a toy, a tool for your own amusement and a protégée to lead the life you never could. I used to fear you, but in truth Hecketty, I should have pitied you.'_

'What is this trickster's magic?' Hecketty cried, fear flickering in the deep furnaces of her eyes as she stared around the vacant room. The voice was hers, was Constance's, yet it did not come from the body which was lying before her. It the voice of a mind which roamed free, something which she could not fight or belittle. She was, despite her considerable magic, powerless.

'_You couldn't see it. I don't blame you; love is something that you will never truly understand.'_

'Constance!' Amelia shrieked. 'Constance is that you? How...'

'_I cannot quite explain it myself Amelia, but yes it is me.'_

The tone was so calm, as smooth as the finest silk but with the affliction of a certain chill. Amelia couldn't help but realise how ghostly it sounded, like a message from the world beyond.

'What do you mean I couldn't see it?' shouted Hecketty, refusing to believe that she had been defeated. There had been no further battle, so how could she have lost?

'_You used the connection between me and my daughter to take my magic, but you could not understand what that would do. A bond of love as strong as a parent and her child cannot be pervaded by evil, and cannot be manipulated for selfish plights. You cannot use her to kill me, Hecketty, and now you will pay your own price.'_

Mistress Broomhead was lost for words. She did not quite know what to say, nor what to do, and her mind could not accept that she had been wrong. Indeed she had underestimated Constance. She had seen her as weak, as someone who would simply fall when defeated rather than fight back. There was no way to describe the feeling within her; she was lost.

'_No-one else will suffer at your hand, I will make sure of it. You will discover that in the world, it is you that is alone. It is you that is pathetic. And I am sorry; I know how it feels.'_

'This isn't over,' Hecketty insisted through gritted teeth. 'It can't be over.' The disembodied voice gave no reply, knowing that in such a denial lay the only answer.

Amelia allowed soft tears to fall down her face. She knew that she should be happy that Mistress Broomhead had lost, that she would never take Constance's magic and that they were safe from her. Yet hearing her deputy's voice...it seemed to her like an end. Why was she not speaking as she always had, through her body and with her own lips? It appeared to be too much of a last effort to hold on.

'_Amelia.'_

The headmistress knew that the voice was only present within her own head, the words no longer ringing but like a soft lullaby in the back of her mind.

'I'm here,' she whispered in reply.

'_Amelia I...I'm so sorry.'_

'What have you to be sorry for? You made sure that we were safe, you stopped Hecketty from gaining your power...we owe you everything.'

'_This was my fight, my burden; I should never have let innocent people get hurt because of me.'_

'None of this is your fault!' exclaimed the headmistress. 'I have more to thank you for than I ever had before and when you are a bit stronger then I will tell you in person.'

'_I...I can't...'_

'No,' Amelia said sternly. 'You're not gone yet, you are still here. Don't you dare let go.'

'_Amelia this is the only way I could find to speak to you. My body was dying, I barely have the strength to hang on...I would come back if I could. There's nothing that I want more. But I have to accept it, as must you.'_

'NO! No I am not saying goodbye. I can't say goodbye...'

'_Take good care of her for me. If I can't be there for her, then at least she will be in caring hands.'_

'But she needs you! Goddamnit I need you! How can you leave us after all this, after everything we have been through? I love you Constance Hardbroom and I will not let you go!'

'_Everything has it's time. If I could change what has to happen in any way, then I would. I don't want to live an empty life, one where I am alive but not quite living...you will understand soon I promise. You have to know that I love...'_

Constance's voice trailed off, fading into the darkest corners of Amelia's mind until it was gone. The headmistress cried out and sobbed, her violent tears at the goodbye she had never wanted to give. The world wasn't fair. It didn't make sense anymore. Mildred squeezed her arm with a comforting hand but it wasn't enough, it could never be enough. She wondered whether Mildred had heard her too, her own final farewell; the poor girl deserved some answers if nothing else.

Hecketty gasped and crumpled to the floor, surrounded by a crackling blue light which faded into the sunlight's rays. Mildred looked at her, hate and disgust welling in her chest. She could not tell if she was gone or simply fallen, though she wished the cruellest and most lonely death upon a woman who deserved nothing more. It would be the only justice.

The protective shield which the young pupil had been holding up with her magic fractured, pulling away from Mildred's grip as there was no longer a reason for its existence. The danger was gone. At once, she ran to Miss Hardbroom's side and with a muttered spell she thanked God that she remembered, Mildred untied the bindings on her teacher's hands. She could not stop the tears from falling, even though she forced herself to remember that this was no time for crying. She knew what she had to do.

Miss Cackle joined them in a heartbeat, kneeling carefully beside the younger witches with Destiny cradled close to her chest. Destiny's eyes strayed to her mother and though she could not possibly understand what was going on she began to cry. Amelia wondered if she could sense something that they could not.

Without warning, the world went dark. The room disappeared from around them and Mildred braced herself against the endless darkness, the emptiness of a space where nothing existed and prepared herself to land. The familiar surroundings of the academy materialised around them, the corridor outside the staffroom seeming a foreign world of long ago rather than part of the place they called home for most of the year.

With a gentle thump, they landed on the floor as if they had never been away. Amelia could no longer bear to look at the impossibly pale body before her and rose to her feet, turning away and rocking the wailing baby gently in her arms. Mildred took one of Miss Hardbroom's frozen hands in her own and pushed a strand of dark ebony hair from across her face. Her fingers wandered to the wrist of her potion mistress' left arm.

'Miss...we need a doctor!'

* * *

><p><strong>To sum up:<strong>

**In reference to flashbacks, to clear up anything, the first was before Tom and Constance met in the first scene with him in when he tried to save her etc. but he still knows who she is and has been keeping an eye on her (aww bless).**

**The second takes place after a precious flashback after her graduation when Broomhead was not pleased to be supposedly relinquishing her hold and was rather mean to poor HB!**

**Let me know if it was utter nonsense or whatever in a review and thanks for reading! Next chapter will be the penultimate I think *listens for cheers or groans* not that long before it is all tied up!**

**Thanks :) HBR**


	26. Chapter 26

**So here it is, the penultimate chapter...admittedly after a bit of a wait. Sorry!**

**Now I am perfectly aware that despite my intentions, I am not yet a medical profession so some aspects of this chapter probably are not perfect. There will be mistakes, things that probably would not happen, but I am aware of the slightly uncertain parts of the chapter. It has been such a long battle to write that I am just glad it has finished and I actually managed it! I hope it is ok, one of the ones I have re-read and not cringed at so it is progress *winks at NCD***

**Thanks to everyone who has put up with me so far and read the story. Special thanks to NCD, Chrissiemusa and Long Vodka for their support and reviews as well as everyone else who has read and given their opinions.**

**So I will stop rambling and let you read! Hope it is ok and the final chapter will be up...well I will make no promises but will try to get it up soonish. Bear with guys :)**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 26<strong>

'Miss...we need a doctor!'

Amelia couldn't bear it. She closed her eyes to try to gather her thoughts, but only the image of Constance's lifeless body remained at the forefront of her mind. The hope in the young girl's voice was unbearable. She wanted it to be true, she wanted more than anything for it to be possible, but the headmistress knew that there was nothing that could be done. Constance had told her herself that this had to be the end, that she had no choice but to move on; it was the way that it had to be. If only Mildred knew what she knew.

'I'm sorry Mildred,' Miss Cackle said gently, 'but there is nothing that any doctor could do. I wish it weren't true, God I would give anything...but she's gone.'

Mildred bit her lip and suppressed the truth; she had already betrayed her word that morning and she did not plan on doing so again, not unless she absolutely had to. She could feel the weak and feeble pulse against her fingers; it seemed to fade as every wasted second passed them by. Mildred took a deep shuddered breath, trying to keep herself from crumbling. Everything else was about to fall apart; someone had to know what to do when the time came.

_Be strong, please, stay strong for me. Just hang on; you have to hang on for just a little longer..._

The rational part of her mind told her that her pleas would go unheard, her silent begging nothing more than a cry for help which would never be heeded. There was a moment, just one fraction of a second, where nothing else in the world mattered.

Mildred's hand slipped into that of her potions mistress. It was so cold, the frostbitten chill of fresh snow newly fallen and hiding a deadly secret beneath the soft, inviting blanket. Her expression to many would have seemed peaceful, a tortured woman finally at rest, but to someone who could sense something deeper Mildred saw a haunted look across Miss Hardbroom's face. She knew that she was still suffering, and the deep morality within her could not let that suffering continue to destroy a life which was already on the very brink. She would do what she could, what she felt that she had to do.

_I'm here. Just hold on, we're here. Destiny is waiting for you. You'll be alright, please be alright..._

'Miss Cackle, we have to do something!' Mildred cried. Amelia reluctantly turned to look at Mildred and Constance, feeling tears spilling from her eyes with nothing left within her that could stop it.

'Mildred...she's gone,' Amelia muttered. 'Please...'

'You have to believe me,' she shouted desperately, 'it isn't as simple as...I'm sorry I can't explain it now, we don't have time. I need you to trust me, please just this once; she needs you.'

Amelia was lost for words. She didn't understand what was going on, a strange and unfamiliar feeling which tingled uncomfortably in her chest. Everything told her not to let her selfish hopes get carried away with Mildred's pleas; it would only lead to her heart breaking all over again. Yet after everything the young girl had been through, after everything she had done even though nothing had been asked of her, did she not owe her a little trust? Mildred had kept them safe and there was always the chance...No.

She couldn't allow herself to believe something which went against everything she had just begun to accept, but there was no harm in letting Mildred do what she felt that she needed to do. Why deny someone so young and innocent their last hope?

Miss Cackle nodded and watched Mildred run into the staffroom metres away, kneeling gently beside Constance with Destiny still crying softly in her arms. There was a sombre sense of relief washing over her as her body relaxed for what felt like the first time in forever. It seemed so surreal, as though nothing that was going on around her could possibly be happening.

The world she never wanted to see kept surfacing in her mind, a world without the deputy headmistress who had stood by her side for so long. The sky was darker, the sun shining a little less brightly behind morose clouds and the wind lacking a ferocity with which it had once ruled. The students carried on as normal; they hadn't truly known the woman behind the black velvet and taught bun. It was, perhaps, the saddest thing of all.

Constance had always been so brave, so willing to fight for them and protect them with all she had; yet in return she received only hatred and misunderstanding. Had they known the woman Amelia now felt that she knew, then they would weep as she wept and would mourn as she knew that she would for the rest of her life. That, if nothing else, would be the only fitting end to a tragic yet wonderful life.

To the headmistress, it was more than a friend that had fallen. It was her daughter that was gone, the little girl she had never had but saw within the potions mistress every day. She would miss everything about her; every moment they had argued or the smiles she knew had been hidden beneath a well-placed hand. In truth, Amelia had no idea how she could go on.

'I'm sorry,' she whispered as her sadness slipped softly down her cheeks. 'There were so many things that I could have done. I let you give your life to save us, to save me; I stood by and watched. You deserved so much more. If I could turn back time then I would, but life is never that kind. Constance, you will never know what you meant to me; oh God...it should have been me.' The headmistress' hand took Constance's and she lowered her head, a final prayer for both of their souls.

Xxx

It was barely a sound, the echo of the last note of a symphony before it fades to silence. Miss Cackle wasn't sure that she had heard it until it came again. She looked up, releasing her grip on her deputy's hand to brush the matted grey hair from her face; the entire world seemed to hang in the moment.

Constance took a rattling breath of air, loud enough this time for Amelia to realise where the sound was coming from. The headmistress gasped and put a hand to her mouth to suppress the scream which was threatening to burst from her throat. Her eyes were wide as she watched Constance's chest very slowly rise and fall. She was breathing. Each breath sounded painful and laboured and they came not quite often enough, but they were there. A trickle of blood escaped from the corner of the deputy headmistress' mouth like a scarlet tear; it wasn't over yet.

Amelia had no idea what to do. She could only stare in awe, watching as the motionless body worked impossibly hard to keep itself from failing; it wasn't possible. Constance had told her herself, had said her final goodbyes...it felt wrong, sordid, as if this was an occurrence beyond the natural world.

Destiny gave a loud wail, her arms flailing free of their blankets and reaching out for answers she would never receive. Though she could not possibly know what was going on around her, she knew for certain that she was scared. It was an unfamiliar feeling, a sad and deep emotion which gripped every cell in her body and forced her to scream. Though she did not fully understand why, she was screaming for her mother.

Xxx

The staffroom was silent. Miss Drill had offered to check on the students who were all sleeping soundly in their beds. Cathy Sparrow, the member of the Witch's Guild who the staff at the academy were growing to increasingly dislike, was buried half asleep in a pile of papers. She scribbled every so often in the small book which appeared to carry messages to the outside world, still trying to track down the elusive Constance Hardbroom who, ironically, was lying just outside the door.

Davina had been sitting in an old wooden chair staring out of the open window watching the sun rise for countless hours, wondering where everything had gone so wrong. They had been left, forced to wait for news they feared like the wives of servicemen hoping never to receive that fateful telegram.

Miss Bat had known Constance since the younger witch had begun teaching at the school many years ago. Looking back, she deeply regretted the many petty disputes which had tainted their relationship from the very beginning of Constance's time at Cackle's Academy. Knowing now what she did, knowing who she was, Davina wondered how many times she had wrongly judged the younger woman's intentions and how many happy times which she could have had had been wasted.

It was clear to her now that Miss Hardbroom had always held the best intentions of the school and its pupils at heart, even if her opinions had sometimes seemed rather extreme; she feared that the revelation had come too late.

When they had first met, Miss Bat had known that Constance was a graduate of the Witch Training College. A place well known for its brutally strict regimes and elitism, Davina had realised at once that the young woman must be very advanced in her magical skill; never had she suspected the harsh realities Constance had to suffer.

She cursed herself. In her many years of teaching, Davina had crossed paths with Mistress Broomhead on only one occasion – a Witch Training College open day as part of a school trip. She had taken an instant disliking to the witch. It was clear to her that there was more than just discipline threatened when she glared coldly at her students, and Davina could see how they were all scared of her, terrified even.

Like so many others, she had asked why nobody ever questioned such a callous and brutal tutor and received the truth that most tried to hide. Mistress Broomhead had power and influence which reached extremely high, higher even than the Guild itself. She was clever, hiding any evidence of her tyranny where no-one else could look; the only ones who bore witness were those that suffered at her dreadful hands, and most were too terrified to dare speak out. It was the simple yet powerful emotion of fear, of terror, which masked what this horrible woman was doing and allowed it to continue.

Constance must have suffered her wrath as a child, thought Davina sadly. She knew now what Mistress Broomhead was capable of, what she would do to advance her own causes, and wished that she had taken the care which was usually so commonplace with her to realise what was going on and had the bravery to stand up to it. There was a moment which she remembered, the first time she had spoken alone with Constance after her appointment as potions teacher and mere days after her escape from college. Davina wondered if it was her greatest regret.

That one conversation, one meeting between two people had started the pointless feud which had existed for more than 20 years between Miss Bat and Miss Hardbroom. It had destroyed a relationship, destroyed a legacy; if only she had put two and two together. If not, she could have tried harder. She knew that there was more that she could, that she should, have done and thought how different her life and her relationship with the young potions mistress would be if she had only had the patience.

Xxx

Miss Bat stepped out of her cupboard, breathing in the fresh morning air with a smile. There was a sharpness lingering in the crisp morning. It was unusual, though not unwelcome to the ancient castle as it marked the beginning of a new term and with it, a new era.

It was not simply the arrival of new students for another academic year that would bring a sense of change to the school, but the fact that this year there would be another member of staff joining the fold and taking on the position of potions mistress. Having only arrived last night, Davina had not been properly introduced to the new witch and she had only spotted her leaving Miss Cackle's office the previous evening.

From what the chanting teacher could tell, and what she already knew, Constance Hardbroom was a very young but talented witch who the headmistress had invited for interview straight from the doors of the Witch Training College. She had only been a qualified witch for a month or so, and already she had a distinguished position in the school; Miss Bat wondered why it was the Amelia had taken so quickly to such a mysterious woman.

Davina found her to be different to any other witch she had encountered. Constance wore black, dresses which reached from her neck to her ankles, and kept the most perfect posture she had ever seen. Every movement she made was precise, as though calculated in depth beforehand: perfection. She could sense something about her, something hidden behind the way she walked without a hair out of place in the most perfect straight line; it was a secret, that much she knew, and one Davina knew would not be given up willingly.

Sipping a freshly brewed cup of tea, Davina watched the sun begin to rise like a beacon of hope above a leafy green horizon. Glancing at the clock on the wall, she noticed that it would only be a few hours before the girls would arrive. Though she craved the buzz of a full and excited school, even Miss Bat had to admit that these secluded moments of peace and perfect harmony would be long forgotten in moments until the half term break.

Davina walked slowly down the corridors to the staff living quarters, humming to herself with a spring in her step as she went. With barely an hour left before another year began, she needed to get her chanting music ready for the raucous rendition of the school song which would follow.

Passing what had been the previous potions teacher's room, Davina noticed that the door was open. She paused for a moment, her senses alerting her to something out of place despite the door's insignificance. She would have walked on, had she not heard a gasp from within the room; it sounded like someone in pain.

Miss Bat was unable to ignore the pained sound she had just heard. Quietly, and with an air of caution, she pushed the door a little further open and crept inside barely daring to breath. She saw Constance through the open bathroom door, her right sleeve rolled up past her elbow and her body bent over her exposed arm. She was not her usual composed self even Davina could see that and she watched as Constance breathed slowly and deeply, screwing her eyes tightly shut as if trying to fight an agonising pain.

As Constance straightened up and put a hand to her forehead, Davina noticed her exposed arm and suppressed a gasp of her own. The skin was covered in small white scars like chalk tallies on a blackboard. There was a deep, fresh gash across her forearm, one which was almost luminescent red and allowed every so often a drop of blood to run over the poor woman's skin.

Constance was clearly in a great deal of agony. Though she tried to hide it, Davina could see the flash of fear in her eyes and the way she bit her lip to prevent a scream from escaping; she fought not to cry at such a terrible sight.

'C-Constance?'

The younger witch spun on her heel at once, flexing the fingers of her left hand so that her sleeve fell over her arm once again. The fear in her eyes was pushed back, hidden by the rage and surprise which replaced them.

'What are you doing in here?' She said sharply, her voice that of a scolding teacher reprimanding a naughty student.

'I...I...I'm sorry,' Davina stuttered. 'Your door was open and I heard you...'

'You have no right to be in here,' shouted Constance with more ferocity than Davina expected could come of someone so young. She appeared far older than her 18 years, the authority she emitted and boom of her voice giving her maturity and control which few teachers ever managed to gain in a life time. She was something different, Davina could tell.

'Your...your arm,' Miss Bat tried, unable to find quite the right words. She was older than Constance by more years than she would care to mention, yet she felt the panic which came every time she disappeared into her cupboard rising in her chest as the younger witch loomed over her. She should have realised that she was just being defensive, that behind the attacking manner was a scared young girl who was in pain and feared what she could not understand.

'It's nothing,' Constance said quickly, absentmindedly taking her right hand in her left. It could not have been further from the truth.

'It l-looks like a spell was used,' Miss Bat explained, 'one which prevents the cut from healing and forces it to re-open. I know a bit about medicines myself you see, and-'

'Thank you,' Constance cut her off coldly, 'but I don't need any help! I am perfectly fine on my own and I do not need interfering colleagues getting in my way and telling me what to do! Now would you kindly leave me in peace!'

Davina didn't know what to do. Her delicate resolve snapped, the warm and caring person within her not quite able to grasp what was right before her; a woman in need. She ran all of the way back to her stationary cupboard, locking herself in there and refusing to come out for 4 hours until Constance had left to instruct the first years with Amelia.

What she hadn't seen, was that as soon as Davina left Constance sank to the bathroom floor in tears. She had to be hard, she had to be strong; it was all that she knew after so many years. Constance hated who she had become, the strict and disciplined potions mistress who shouts at those kind enough to offer her help. As a droplet of blood splashed against the tiled floor, her tears came thick and fast.

Xxx

Mildred burst into the staffroom, barely able to breathe as her mind raced too fast for her to read her own thoughts. She could feel that her hands were shaking, trembling despite the warm summer morning as her fear threatened to take over. The two women in the room both turned to her at once. Mildred shot Cathy an almost poisonous glare, one which warned her not to try anything untoward.

Miss Bat knocked her chair over as she ran to Mildred, her wide bright eyes begging to be told what had happened.

'We're here, we're back,' Mildred stammered, 'the baby...she had the baby.'

'Are they alright?' Davina asked desperately. The look in Mildred's eyes made her fear the worst.

'Destiny is fine, but M-Miss Hardbroom...'

'What is it dear?' pushed Davina gently.

'We need a doctor,' Mildred half-shouted. 'We need to get a doctor here now.'

'There is an old friend of mine, Doctor Ray Spelling, who is staying in the village at this very moment. I could fly out there and find him-'

'No,' Mildred said quickly, 'that would take too long. We haven't got time.'

'What do you mean?' whispered Miss Bat with a hand hovering over her mouth. She already knew the answer.

'I mean that she hasn't got much t-time left,' Mildred answered gently. Their eyes met and each knew the gravity of what was being said; they could lose her at any second.

'Where is she?' Cathy asked, getting to her feet.

'Just outside,' Mildred replied coldly. She had seen too many people try to destroy lives in the past day, she was not about to let it happen again. 'But if you lay one finger on her or her baby I swear...'

'No,' agreed Cathy, 'no net yet anyway.'

'I mean it. I have seen the epitome of evil at work this night, and if you think for one second that I will allow you anywhere near them then you are sadly mistaken. Now if you have nothing helpful to say-'

'Alright,' Cathy conceded with a sigh, 'but I _can_ help you, and Constance. I have a ring.' Cathy held up her hand to show Mildred, the glistening emerald stone reflecting the morning sunlight.

'It holds the power of a transportation spell, for emergencies only. I can go and find this doctor if Miss Bat will show me where and I can teleport him back with me.'

'Go,' Mildred said curtly. 'Thank you.'

Cathy took Miss Bat's arm and dragged her to the centre of the room, tapping the emerald twice with her nail; in a moment they were gone.

Xxx

There was nothing, nothing in the world; nothing, that was, except the two paths. They were all at was left of a world she was near to departing from though something was blocking her, forcing her to stay in the unrelenting limbo with the two paths laid out before her.

She knew where they led. One path was swathed in a bright white glow, the colour of pure winter snow with the warmth of the sun emanating from it. When she looked into it, into the unbelievable light, all she could see was happiness. It was an overwhelming feeling which took control of her and gave her what she wanted: comfort and satisfaction. Somewhere so far away, she could hear the screams of her child. There was only one way back to her and she knew that she had to fight, to claim the righteous path as her own and allow the light to take her to Destiny.

But no.

She tried to move, managing only a short distance as the bright light seemed to fade and move further from her grasp. She could feel the darkness pulling her down, consuming her soul as it took her for its own. Without even the power of a scream to escape her lips, she fell hard against the burning ground of the darkened path and felt the Earth scrape against her skin as she was dragged like a dirty rag down into the depths of hell.

It was not dying, of that she was sure; it wasn't that kind. As the brightness faded to nothing, as the blackness became all she knew and even the sound of her daughter was only a memory, Constance knew what awaited her. Never ceasing, never faltering, never releasing her...she was doomed to suffer forevermore, the echo of the life she had once known ringing for the last time in her ears. She was gone.

Xxx

Mildred took a moment in the vacant staffroom to breathe, closing her eyes and wishing that it had all been nothing more than a dream. It was a childish wish, the fantasy of one who knew nothing but naivety, but she had no answers; she didn't know what else she could wish for.

Turning slowly towards the door, she pleaded silently with Miss Bat not to dither as she usually would. Though Cathy Sparrow was not about to get within ten feet of Miss Hardbroom's baby if she had anything to do with it, it seemed that she was the only person in a position to help as it stood.

When she had first come to the castle to inquire about a man called Tom, Mildred had seen no glimmer of the hateful person who had formed simply from the news of his death. There was a rational, emotive human being within Miss Sparrow, but she was lost in grief and confusion. Mildred hoped that there was still enough of her left to do the right thing.

Walking out into the corridor as she knew she had to, Mildred let out a deep sigh. She did not know how much more of this she could take.

Xxx

As Mildred returned from the staffroom, Amelia looked up at her with startled and glass-like eyes.

'She...she...You were right, Mildred, I'm s-so sorry.' Mildred shook her head and wiped her wet and heavy eyes.

'You weren't to know.'

'I sh-should have listened to you,' Miss Cackle said, more to herself than to the young girl before her. 'She is barely breathing, I should have done something sooner...'

'What could you have done?' asked Mildred. She moved beside the broken headmistress and placed a hand on her shoulder.

'You were, and are, there for her. There was no way for us to help her before...before what happened but now we have been given a second chance.'

'You knew,' Amelia whispered. 'You knew...how did you know?'

'I...I can't tell you know, I'm sorry. Miss Bat and Miss Sparrow have used a travelling spell to get to the village to find a doctor; she's going to be fine.'

'Is she...' Amelia said quietly, in a tone audible only to herself. She looked at Mildred.

'Mildred...can I ask something of you?'

'Anything Miss, if I can.'

'Would you take Destiny? It is selfish of me but I would like to stay with Constance and I don't think that a crying baby will help the doctors treat her.'

'Of course, Miss Cackle,' Mildred accepted, lost for words that she could be entrusted with something so precious. She took the small, crying child into her arms and almost as soon as she had the wailing stopped. Amelia smiled.

'There is no-one else that Constance would trust, nor anyone I could trust more.'

'Thank you Miss...' Mildred whispered in awe.

'Keep her away from Cathy,' warned Amelia. 'By law she cannot take her whilst Constance is...is as she is, but that doesn't mean that she won't try.' Mildred gave a swift nod. She knew what she had to do.

Amelia turned back to Constance, taking her freezing hand in her own and with stroking the younger woman's hair with her gentle touch. She had to hope that everything would be alright; yet something was wrong. Constance's chest was barely rising, the rasping breaths she had managed moments before now silenced and mere memories to her blue tinged lips.

'Constance?' Amelia knew she had to try. Reason was pointless now; she couldn't lose her again.

'Constance please...'

At that moment, Cathy and Miss Bat half ran through the open staffroom door looking considerably flustered. They were accompanied by a young man, no more than thirty, who had a small bag and a stethoscope already hanging about his shoulders – saviour.

Davina didn't want to believe what she was seeing...she couldn't. Constance looked as though she had left them already, the dark material of her dress splayed across the stone floor and glistening like blood. Her face was so pale, so impossibly pale, and the chill in the air told the story that none of them wanted to hear.

'I'm going to need some room,' Dr. Spelling announced, kneeling down beside his patient and feeling the frozen nape of her neck with two fingers to find a pulse. He tried not to let his looks of concern falter across his expression.

Destiny cried out loudly, fighting Mildred with her weak arms and screaming for someone to comfort her. Mildred rocked her, trying to settle the young child in her arms but to no avail. Davina swallowed hard and tried to shake off the fears which felt as though they were constricting her, stopping her even from breathing.

'Come on Mildred,' she said bravely, though her voice did carry a subtle tremor, 'I think we need to get her out of here, don't you?' Mildred nodded as tears rolled down her face. She was glad to be leaving. In truth, she didn't know how much more she could take.

Xxx

Miss Drill bounded down the last few steps of the winding staircase, her face warm from where she had been running. The girls were still in their beds, most of them asleep after a long and confusing night having been told that they could sleep in until noon and Imogen had been checking on them.

As soon as she had heard the distant commotion, she knew that something had changed. She knew that Constance, Amelia and Mildred would be back though her imagination was unkind in the images it chose to portray within her fretting mind. After checking one final time that she was not needed on the upper floors, she had run faster than she had thought that she would to the nearest staircase.

As soon as her feet touched the final step, she noticed Miss Bat walking slowly along the corridor; Mildred was with her, carrying something small in her arms wrapped up in a blanket. Her heart pounded, the only sound in the world the rush of blood pumping around her body and the echoes of her muddled thoughts ringing in her ears. For a moment she froze; for the first time in her life, she froze. She had imagined this moment over and over again, thinking through what she would do and say to the letter.

Now the time was here, she was lost. She didn't want to believe how much she cared about her colleagues, nor acknowledge how she had prayed to God for Constance to be alright. They had always had such a bitter and turbulent relationship, yet moments before she had found herself crying for the woman she had once thought that she hated.

Imogen walked up to meet them, swallowing and wondering what on Earth she was going to say. Davina saw her and managed a ghost of a smile. She had one arm around Mildred's shoulder, as the poor girl was trying desperately not to cry and averting her gaze to the impossibly small child she was holding in her arms.

'Imogen,' Miss Bat said as they met, 'are all of the girls alright?' Miss Drill managed a swift nod.

'Is...is everyone back?' The look in Davina's glassy eyes told her so many things that her mind could not comprehend all of them.

'Constance...is she...'

'There is a doctor with her, and Amelia,' Davina replied gently. She was trying to withhold her usually outright honesty for the sake of Mildred. Having seen everything that she had, she did not need to hear how Constance was so close to what nobody wanted to admit.

Miss Drill held back her many questions, even though they felt like they were about to burst from her chest with every heartbeat. She forced a weak and meaningless smile and looked down at the baby girl before her. Even though she made no noise, she was crying as if she knew more than it was possible for her to know. Her little hair was as black as ebony on her head, exactly like her mother's, yet her eyes shone a new and magical blue; the colour of newly cut sapphires glistening in the morning sun.

'This is her then,' Imogen whispered, stroking the baby's cheek with the back of a gentle finger.

'Yes,' Mildred muttered in a weak voice, 'this is Destiny...Destiny Amelia Hardbroom.' Miss Bat gave a little gasp and put her free hand over her mouth. There were tears in her eyes.

'What is it?' Imogen asked concernedly. Davina shook her heard.

'It's nothing...it's just such a beautiful name. Her mother's name...'

'How did you know that?' Mildred inquired, looking up at her chanting teacher. Miss Bat took a deep breath.

'I knew Constance's mother,' she confessed. 'We were at school together, grew up together; Destiny Charman, later Destiny Hardbroom, was my closest and dearest friend until...'

'Until what?' Mildred pressed, hanging on her teacher's every word.

'We kept in touch when we left school. She fell in love not long afterwards, married a man who couldn't be trusted no matter how much I begged her to listen; I should have tried harder to make her see.'

'What happened?'

'She was barely twenty when she fell pregnant with Constance, though I had never seen her happier. She wanted to start a new life, taking a course at the Witch Training College under Hecketty Broomhead so that she could become a magical healer; but it all went so wrong. No-one quite knew what happened, but I suppose _she_ was involved.'

'Just before she was due to give birth, she disappeared along with her husband and was never seen again.'

'That's...that's terrible,' Mildred said aghast. 'Where did she go?'

'Nobody knew,' Davina admitted. 'I think she was running, running from someone who wanted her daughter. Sound familiar?'

'Hecketty...' Imogen stated. 'How could she do such a thing? Why would she want to steal a child?'

'Destiny was a direct relative of the first true witch, she told me so proudly when we first met. People with such ancestry have great magical capabilities and I suppose-'

'That Mistress Broomhead would want to take them away, to use them for herself,' Mildred added, finishing the elder witch's sentence. Davina nodded.

'Her husband, Charles Hardbroom, was found dead about eight years later in his home. He had a two line obituary in the back of the local paper; not a soul knew a thing about him and there was no mention of his daughter. I didn't realise that Constance had lived until she came to work here, and even then it took a while for me to make the connection.'

'Did you ever tell her?' Imogen asked.

'No,' Davina said regretfully. 'We started off an a very sour note, one which has played ever since I am afraid to say, and I did not think that the fact that I knew her mother would do much more than start another argument. I...I regret it now; technically, I was going to be her godmother.'

Unshed tears fell from her eyes. For once she could no longer hide behind the eccentric exterior which everyone knew and loved, but the true heart of her was exposed for all to see. She had never cared for Constance as she should have, she knew that now.

When they finally met after forty years, Davina had known nothing of Constance and saw her parentage as merely a coincidence. She owed her nothing and was sure that her connection to the younger witch's mother would not offer any comfort to Constance, simply invade a privacy which was clearly so dear to her. She had regretted nothing else in her life more than the fact that she had never really allowed herself to know Constance, someone who could have been dear to her, or discovered the dark secrets from her past which were resurfacing now. She could have helped. She could have been there

She should have been there.

As though she had read her thoughts, Imogen placed a hand on Davina's arm.

'There was nothing you could have done,' she whispered gently. Davina nodded her head vigorously and wiped away her tears.

'Miss Cackle is Destiny' godmother,' Mildred informed them softly. 'She made her legal guardian if...if anything w-were...' She couldn't say the words; they were just too terrible.

'You said Amelia was with Constance?' Imogen asked, breaking a fatal silence.

'Yes,' Davina assured her, 'they are just outside the staffroom. I think...I think maybe someone should go and make sure she is alright; she looked as if she needed someone even if she won't admit it.'

'I'll go,' the PE teacher volunteered at once, not wanting to be side-lined; she was at her best when there was something which she was charged with doing. It kept her mind of her emotions, and right now she needed that more than anything. Otherwise she feared that she would break.

Xxx

Davina and Mildred arrived at Constance's door, still feeling apprehensive about entering the room of a woman who valued privacy above most other things.

'Do we have to go in?' asked Mildred nervously.

'Yes, I think so. Poor Destiny can't go much longer in just that blanket and I would imagine that Constance would have at least had something in her room for her,' Miss Bat reasoned. She was doing all that she could merely to convince herself to enter.

Opening the door, Miss Bat couldn't quite believe what she was seeing. The last time she had been in this room seemed a lifetime ago, when she had cowered in the corner as Amelia and Imogen had fought to wake her. It had been a plain and lifeless room, without the luxury of possessions or comfort even in the form of an armchair. Now...

It seemed a completely different place; somehow it was lighter, happier even. The impersonal touch to every aspect of the four walls had faded, a sense of warmth replacing the clinical neatness and precision which had once been the only thing to identify it as Constance's. Where a bookshelf had once stood, a crib painted the lightest shade of rose pink had been erected with a small pink bear sitting in the corner and a folded white blanket embellished with the letter D laid out neatly; it had been waiting for the new arrival to occupy it. A mobile of angels turned gently in the light breeze from the open window, the small wooden figurines flying elegantly through the air with stars following in their wake.

A brand new chest of white drawers stood next to the baby's cot, and on the top was a picture frame holding the photograph of a scan. She had never told anyone that she had gone for one, and must have had to do so in secret, yet she had kept the picture and Davina knew how much it must have meant for her to display it in such an affectionate way.

Opening the drawers, she found that they were lined with clothes, blankets and everything a new mother would need to take care of her baby. So she hadn't been such an Ice Queen after all, though Miss Bat sadly. When she had heard the students talk of pitying the child to have such a mother Davina had not quite been able to find the words to disagree with them. This room said it all.

'Do you think that I should get her dressed, Miss?' Mildred asked, looking at the lines of baby grows and remembering that the poor child still only had a blanket for warmth. Davina nodded. She turned to them and smiled.

'What is it?'

'Destiny,' Davina explained, still beaming. 'She's stopped crying.' Mildred looked down and saw that it was true, and Destiny's shimmering blue eyes were dry and staring up at her.

'It is as if she can tell,' Miss Bat remarked wistfully.

'She is very special; perhaps she can,' speculated Mildred.

Changing Destiny into a nappy and white baby grow adorned with a smiling brown teddy bear, Mildred began to feel sorry for Miss Hardbroom. Because of what she had done, what she had sacrificed, she was missing the chance to dress her daughter for the first time and to hold her close; she was forced to lie on the cold stone floor as a doctor tried to keep her alive. It seemed so unfair.

'What is this?' Miss Bat asked suddenly. She picked up a letter folded beneath the array of blankets, slightly crumpled from where it had been hastily stashed yet written on new paper within the past few days. She opened it, tears catching in her throat as her eyes skimmed across the melancholy words.

'What does it say?' Mildred queried, wrapping the baby in a different blanket to keep her warm and scooping her back into her arms.

'It...it's from Constance.'

'What!' exclaimed the younger witch. 'How...what...how can it be from Miss Hardbroom?' Mildred took Destiny over to the crib and lay her gently down into it, covering her loosely enough so that she was not overly restricted yet enough so that she was kept warm. Immediately her eyes began to close.

_My Darling Daughter,_

_I feel that it is my duty to start by saying that I am sorry. There is nothing that I wouldn't give to ensure that you have a normal and happy life, but I am afraid to admit that so far I have been unable to protect you. As I write this, days I fear before your birth, I am not sure where either of our futures lie nor what I can do to stop the terrible fate which now seems almost inevitable._

_Do not think, my love, that I fear your arrival because of you. No, there is a greater evil at work and I seek only to keep you safe from her; if I cannot do that, then I will have truly failed as your mother. _

_Rational thought tells me that writing to an unborn child will prove very little and offer someone so young no comfort, though I write this with the knowledge that what is to come could leave me incapable of telling you myself what you need to know._

_No matter what happens, you must always know that I love you and that from the moment I found out I was expecting you, my life felt complete. I would give anything to watch you grow, to see you walk and talk and mature into the beautiful woman that I know you are going to be. Something tells me that it will not be that simple._

_I need you to understand, my dearest Destiny; I did it all for you. If you are forced to grow up without a mother, I beg of you not to think bitterly of me. Life can be cruel, yet it can also be kindest. If I die, then at least I will die knowing that I did something good with my life. _

_Amelia has sworn to protect you in my absence, and I know that at least you are left in warm and capable hands. I would trust her with my life, and now I am trusting her with yours; she is the only person that I could. I know she will love you as she would a daughter of her own._

_I am scared. For the first time I am not afraid to admit it. I am afraid that I won't be able to keep you safe from the woman who wants to harm you, that my ailing body will fail me before I can ensure your safety; most of all I am scared that you will not be loved or content with your life. _

_In truth, sitting here knowing that the day of your birth is about to arrive, I am not sure of what will happen. Life is full of uncertainties, yet I could not leave without being sure that you will know what you meant to me and how much I love you if the worst were to occur. You keep me strong, even without being able to see your face. You have made a pointless life worth living. Please do not think ill of me, for whatever I do or have done it has all been for you. You are the only good thing that I have ever done, and I want nothing more than for you to have a long and happy time on this Earth._

_I trust that if this is found by another then they will give this to you when you are old enough to understand; I only hope that I can show you it myself one day and explain to you how you were born. For whoever reads this, I am deeply and truly sorry. My life has caused a multitude of unhappiness and I have allowed innocent people to stand in harm's way. No more. This will end, one way or another, and I will keep you safe. I will keep all of you safe._

_My time grows short, and I am afraid that there is little more that I can say. _

_Just in case you never get the chance to hear it from my own lips, know that I love you._

_Forgive me,_

_Constance Hardbroom_

_Xxxx_

Davina could barely read the last few words, the letters swimming as she fought back tears. She had written this before Mistress Broomhead had taken her, something that she knew someone would find amongst her daughter's things and a final goodbye in case...She had known, even before she had been taken, that her life was in danger. Miss Bat knew that her life was still hanging in the balance, but prayed as she never had before that this letter would never need to reach who it was meant for. There was only one reason that it would.

Mildred, tears stroking her face in comfort, took the letter gently from her chanting teacher's trembling hands and folded it as it had been before. She placed it beneath the pink bear at the foot of Destiny's bed, the paper sticking out so that it could still be seen.

The door opened, revealing the ashen face of Miss Drill in its wake.

'Sorry Miss Bat, Mildred,' she muttered, barely able to force the words from her lips. 'The...the doctor needs t-to bring Constance in here. He says that he needs some time to make sure that she is stable, and t-to make sure that the baby is alright so none of us are allowed in I am afraid.'

Mildred looked to Miss Bat, her eyes pleading to find a way for her to say yet the eyes which she met told her that there was nothing that they could do. They had done all that they could, and they just had to wait and hope for the best.

Walking outside, leaving Destiny sleeping in her crib, Mildred saw Constance being carried down the corridor on a levitated stretcher with Amelia talking fast and angrily to the doctor at her side. She still looked so pale, her left hand hanging over the side of the canvas which held her and her hair spilling out like a spider's web where she lay. It was almost too much to bear.

'No, I want to stay with her!' Amelia insisted for what had to be the fifteenth time. As the door to Constance's room opened and the doctor guided Constance inside, he looked at the headmistress with a face of deathly seriousness.

'I am afraid that it will not be possible,' he said sternly. 'She needs peace and I need space to work otherwise I cannot help her, now if you will kindly wait elsewhere. As soon as I have new you will be the first to know, I assure you.'

Without another word, he entered the room and locked the door behind him leaving Amelia lost for words.

'Well that was just rude!'

'I think he has her best interests at heart,' offered Imogen comfortingly. 'Now Miss Cackle, if it isn't too much trouble, do you think that you could tell us what exactly has been going on?'

Xxx

The silence lingering in the staffroom which followed the saddest of stories was impenetrable. Davina was sat in an armchair, her head in her hands and tears in her eyes. Imogen was standing by the fire where the deputy headmistress had stood so many times, wondering how anyone could be so cruel.

'I...I just can't believe it,' Imogen thought aloud. 'Who could allow that...that creature to roam free let alone to teach!'

'She was very clever,' Cathy interjected, 'and no matter how hard we tried she had too many prestigious links for anyone to believe what she was capable of. Everybody thought she was a pillar of the educational profession.'

'Well that wasn't the only thing that the Guild have gotten wrong,' spat Amelia spitefully. The fear and uncertainty bubbling in her chest, the thoughts running through her head and the constant questions; they were threatening to tear her apart.

'I beg your pardon?'

'How could you think about taking that little girl away? She is no more of a danger than you or I, far less so even, yet you want to take her from those who care about her to lead, what? A life of isolation and fear, of being told that she is alone for her own safety? What sort of a life is that to lead?'

'I...' The reasons Cathy had been so sure of when they had last spoke seemed the ghosts of memories. Perhaps it had been seeing the woman whose child she was supposed to take fighting simply to stay alive, her white porcelain skin marred with blood. Her convictions had left her at the sight of such a horror.

'There is nothing more that I can do,' she admitted sadly. 'It is the order from the Guild itself, the very highest powers.'

'There is always a way,' Amelia assured her. 'Always. I am, in Constance's incapacitation, Destiny's legal guardian. I swore an oath, one bound with the purest magic, to protect her and keep her safe and I know that not even the Guild has the power to break that oath.'

'It was almost as if she knew,' Davina mumbled. Amelia let the corners of her mouth flicker.

'I am almost certain that she did.'

'So, Catherine Sparrow,' Amelia said finally, drawing herself to her full height, 'will you honour your head or your heart?'

Cathy thought for a moment.

'I will do what I can,' she hissed in a hushed tone of voice, 'but I cannot promise that I can get the decision overturned. The oath will work in your favour, as will the health of the child's mother; fortunately she has a willing guardian in case...well you know what I mean.' She turned on her heel and gathered her things.

'I will be back when I have news, but for now I think I will choose to honour what I wish to rather than that which I have to.'

As she left, Davina looked after her.

'She was always going to do the right thing.'

'Do you think so?' Amelia asked. Miss Bat nodded.

'Could you not see it? She was angry, angry at the world very much like you are now Miss Cackle. Tom was taken away from her and she did not want to let her feelings get the better of her. She is a good person at heart.'

'You see the best in everyone,' Imogen said half-admiringly.

'Only when there is the best to see.'

The room froze as the door opened and Doctor Spelling came through wearing a very grave expression. He had removed his coat, revealing a worn dark jumper and trousers covering his thin frame; he was a simple man, yet a man who held the very essence of life in his hands every day.

'Tell me.' Amelia spoke at once, feeling only the draw of the knowledge in his eyes as the rest of the world melted away.

'I...I wish that I had better news,' he confessed at once, wiping his brow. 'By the time I got here, there was already so little that I could do.'

'She's not...' started Davina, clapping a hand to her mouth. Mildred, who had been sitting silently in the corner, said nothing. Her eyes were fixed on him, watching his every move without blinking.

'No,' Doctor Spelling said, shaking his head. 'I have managed to stabilise her in her room, though there are many enchantments which are working to keep her body alive.'

'Stable...but that's good?' questioned Amelia.

'Yes, in a way, but unfortunately the damage had already been done. I have managed to steady her heart rate and breathing, but when I arrived her body was already going into a state of distress. She has lost a considerable amount of blood, almost too much for her to cope with, and the trauma inflicted upon her by the birth of her daughter has weakened her considerably.'

'What does it mean?' the headmistress whispered, already feeling the tears falling down her face.

'It means,' he continued, 'that she has suffered a great deal of physical harm, but in addition whatever was done to her has drained her of almost all of her magic.'

'Her magic!' exclaimed Miss Bat, jumping up from her seat. 'Someone took her magic?'

'I am afraid so. Not quite all of it, but enough to lower her body's defences and allow her nothing to fall back on. She has no magical reserve to support herself with which is why she came so close...It seems that she used the last of her powerful reserves in a transportation spell.'

It hit Amelia like a harsh slap to the face. She had used her last magical effort not to save herself, not to ease her pain, but to get them home.

'The blood loss, physical trauma and reduction in her magic has impacted severely on her already weakened heart and I am sorry to say that there was some evidence of brain damage. I am sorry, I really am, but there is nothing more I can do.'

'What do you mean nothing more?' cried Miss Drill almost angrily, refusing to believe that there was nothing which could be done.

'She has suffered too much,' he explained. 'Although she is alive and stable in her bed, there is no chance that she will ever wake.'

Ice drenched Amelia's body as she heard the terrible words escape his lips. It couldn't be, not after everything that had happened. She couldn't be lost to her forever.

'Wh-what did y-you say?'

'I wish that there was more that I could do, but I am afraid that no spell or potion can do more than keep her body living. I dare say that her consciousness has slipped to a level where there is little that she can sense or even feel; there has to be a question of whether she would want-'

'What exactly are you inferring?' screamed Amelia, taking a dangerous step closer to the tired looking young man.

'You know what I mean,' he said calmly. 'I will leave you to think it over. I'll check on Constance once more and take my leave for an hour or so; neither she nor the baby will be in any danger whilst I am gone, I assure you.'

'Oh, Destiny,' recalled Miss Cackle, 'is she alright?'

'Perfectly,' the doctor assured her. 'She is the epitome of health, which I am sure will be of some relief.' Amelia nodded and turned away.

'Thank you,' she managed just as he left and he returned her gesture with a worn smile.

Xxx

'It's all my f-fault,' Mildred said, her voice a whisper against the silence. All eyes turned to her.

'Whatever do you mean?' Davina asked gently. Mildred shook her head.

'I should n-never have...I should have listened to her, but I didn't.'

Amelia walked over to Mildred and crouched so that their eyes were level. She took the girl's trembling hands in her own.

'Can you explain to us what you are saying, Mildred?'

'Just after Miss Hardbroom's voice spoke to us, when we were at that house, she t-talked to me.' Amelia had wondered if Constance had said anything to the young girl, spoken any words of comfort in her head as she had to the older witch.

'It was as though she was in my head, but I knew that it was her. She t-told me that I had to be brave, and that she couldn't ask anyone else but me. She said that once Mistress Broomhead fell, to let the barrier which protected us fall and go over to her, and to make sure that we both had contact with her body so that she could take us back.'

'She warned me not to tell you, Miss Cackle, as she had told you that she was about to die and you had to believe that she was. Miss Hardbroom said that she was v-very ill, but wanted to make sure that we were safe so needed to take us back to the castle. I asked her what I could do, but she told me that she was b-beyond any help. She said...oh God...she said that once we were back at the castle that it wouldn't be long, and asked me to let her slip away in peace.'

'Mildred,' stuttered a distraught Amelia, 'I...I'm so sorry, I didn't know...Oh Constance...'

'She sounded so sad,' Mildred continued as tears flooded her face. 'She kept telling me how sorry she was, even when I told her that I understood. I think that she w-wanted you to remember her as she spoke to you, as she said her last goodbye, so that she c-could go in p-peace but I couldn't let her die I j-just couldn't.'

Mildred broke down and sobbed into Miss Cackle's warm and inviting shoulder.

'There, Mildred, 'she cooed softly. 'There was nothing more that you could do. You did brilliantly.'

'But I should have respected her wishes,' wept Mildred. 'I should have allowed her some peace and dignity; it was all that she wanted and I couldn't give it to her.'

'I know that she would not think ill of you,' Amelia told her gently. 'She would only thank you for being so brave on her behalf and looking after her daughter. Constance...Miss Hardbroom...she wouldn't want you to cry.'

'I'm sorry Miss Cackle...'

'Shh, you don't have to be.'

As Mildred calmed, Imogen and Davina looked to Miss Cackle. Now more than ever, they needed her guidance; they didn't know what to do. As if reading their thoughts, she addressed them with an arm still around Mildred.

'We shall go and see Constance now,' she instructed them, 'and then...and then we will see what we have to do.'

With no-one daring to utter a word in argument, they left.

Xxx

Walking into Constance's room, there was a surreal chill in the air. She was lying on top of the covers, her hands rested gently across her still swollen abdomen and her expression one of pure tranquillity. It was Davina who broke first, turning away as it all became too much. Imogen stayed beside her, one hand reassuringly placed on her colleague and dear friend's shoulder.

'I'm sorry,' she whispered, 'I just can't bear it.'

Amelia conjured two chairs beside Constance's bedside and took the one closest to the woman she had loved more than anyone she had ever known.

'Oh Constance,' she whispered, 'why did it have to be you?' She took her hand, stroking the pale skin with her thumb. It seemed to emit an ethereal glow, a sign of the enchantments which were still acting on her to keep her alive.

Mildred sat beside the headmistress. Looking into her eyes, she could see that something was wrong.

'What is it Miss?'

'Nothing,' she dismissed, 'it's just something that Constance said.'

'When she last spoke to you?'

Miss Cackle nodded.

'She said, _I don't want to live an empty life, one where I am alive but not quite living_; I think she may have known that this would happen.'

'How could she know?' Mildred asked, confused.

'I suspect that she knew that you were too brave, too loyal and pure to allow her to slip away Mildred, and wanted...maybe she was telling us what to do, what she wanted us to do.'

'No...' Miss Bat hissed, spinning around with her windswept hair flying in her wake. 'You can't...'

'What?' Mildred looked to Miss Cackle, pleading with her.

'I don't like it either Davina, but I don't th-think that she would have wanted us to let her live like this, so vulnerable and hopeless. What kind of a life is it? Is it a true, and happy existence? If it were you-'

'But it isn't me, is it?' Davina argued. 'We can't make that decision over another person's life; we don't get to play God.'

As if on cue, Destiny woke from her troubled slumber and began to howl. Mildred rose at once, going over to the crib and lifting the baby into her arms.

'Shh, darling, shh.'

'I think she knows,' Davina remarked.

'How could she? She isn't a day old!' Imogen dismissed harshly.

'She's special. Besides, it is her mother dying before her.'

Destiny began to wail louder, flailing with her face bright red and reaching out as though fighting to get away from Mildred.

'I don't know what's wrong with her,' Mildred said as she struggled to keep control.

'Maybe she is hungry?' suggested Imogen. Amelia shook her head.

'The doctor said he was going to give her something before and I saw him take it in here. Anyway, she doesn't sound hungry she sounds distressed.'

'I don't know what to do,' Mildred admitted hopelessly. Her eyes locked with the young child's, dazzling blue and bright hazel; it was if she told her what to do.

'Miss Cackle,' started Mildred.

'Yes dear?'

'Can I try something? It's ridiculous really, but...' She couldn't quite find the right words. Amelia sighed but nodded.

'Perhaps something a little ridiculous could lead to something wonderful,' she said kindly, though didn't believe a word.

Mildred walked around to the other side of the deputy headmistress' bed. Although still screaming, she felt Destiny stop fighting her and relax a little in her arms. Maybe it wasn't so ridiculous. Carefully, she lay Destiny across her mothers' chest so that her small scarlet head was resting by Miss Hardbroom's heart; she was silent.

The room stood in awe for a moment, watching without blinking though not sure what was about to happen.

A great white light erupted seemingly from nowhere, causing Mildred to stagger back and the others to cover their eyes. It shone for a few seconds, the longest seconds in the world, before it faded to a dull glow which, they realised, was ensnaring Constance and Destiny. As it died, everyone stared at the deputy headmistress in a stunned state of silence; it was impossible.

With a pained gasp, Constance's eyes burst open and her hand flew to where her daughter lay, to support her and keep her safe. Her eyes were wild, darting around the room in disbelief and her breathing quick and slow; she was terrified.

'Oh my God...' Davina gasped, scarcely able to believe her own eyes. Amelia couldn't be surprised, for all that she could feel was wonderful relief and overwhelming joy. It couldn't be true, it just couldn't and yet it was.

Constance looked at Amelia, unsure of what had happened and scared that she had lost the battle that she had been consumed by.

'Am I...' she croaked, too weak to force much more than those two words from her lips.

'You're safe,' Amelia assured her, taking her free hand and grasping it tightly; she would never let it go. 'You are safe and you are amazing; I can't believe it. You're awake...you're alive!' Constance's eyes searched for a moment, still too tired and weak to understand what was going on around her.

It was too much. She succumbed to the darkness again, yet this time she was in control. Her body was weak, but her mind had never been more alive. Sleeping with her daughter close to her, and her friends close at hand, she began to realise that she had won. The future she hadn't dared to dream of was now unfolding before her eyes, sweetening the dreams which had once been such a curse. She saw herself with her daughter, growing old and watching Destiny flourish.

It was the pure essence of happiness.

* * *

><p><strong>Be proud, one of the only chapters I have ever written with a happy ending!<strong>

**There are a few more things to be tied off in the next chapter and a side to Constance that we still haven't seen yet. Intriguing...**

**Thanks for reading, leave me your thoughts I love to know what you think!**

**HBR**

**X**


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